


Superior

by MarigoldenMay



Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Androgyny, Bondage, Brainwashing, Forced Masturbation, Gags, Kidnapping, M/M, Mind Control, Multi, Obsession, Physical Abuse, Psychic Abilities, Punishment, Sexual Slavery, Smut, Spanking, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-03-20 10:59:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 47,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13716261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarigoldenMay/pseuds/MarigoldenMay
Summary: Nick is a Class S PSY, one in a million. No one should be able to hold him against his will. He learns otherwise when he's captured by a pair of psychopaths who want to make him their pet.





	1. Unthinkable

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story with dark subject matter, including graphic rape scenes and all types of abuse. Please check the warnings and tags, and read at your own risk.
> 
> Superior has already been posted for several years over at AFF.org, where there are currently 8 chapters. I'll be posting a chapter with slight edits every few days until all 8 chapters are posted. I may add more tags along with new chapters. After AO3 is caught up, any updates will be posted to both sites.
> 
> Thank you very much for reading!  
> -Marigolden

The first thing Nick felt as he returned to consciousness was the bite of tight metal cuffs digging into his wrists. The second was fingers knotted in his hair, holding his limp head upright. When he opened his eyes, all he could see was a mess of lurching light and color that made him want to puke his guts out, so he closed them again with a groan. He smelled ammonia. Was he moving or still? Indoors or outdoors? He couldn’t even tell. All he knew was that he was on his knees, his arms were wrenched behind his back, and there was someone else there; those hands, clutching at him, _hurting_ him.

Now that Nick was awake, his memory was making a rapid return, and he focused on what he remembered with the most clarity. His mission. He’d been sent in to scope out an abandoned apartment complex. The detectives were almost certain that the suspect who’d been sheltering himself there had already moved on, but after analyzing what was left of the victims’ minds, the mental forensic team reported they were dealing with a Class A. The perpetrator was a serial rapist who used his PSY with all the subtlety of a power drill, luring women into isolated areas and then destroying their minds once he was done with them. He was powerful and completely uninhibited, a danger even to other Class As. In other words, exactly the sort of guy the Mirapolis PD kept Nick on call to deal with.

In the early evening, Nick had strolled up to the complex in jeans and a windbreaker, feeling just as unconcerned as he was acting. Actually, he’d been hoping the one percent contingency turned out to be reality and the suspect was still around. But pretty much as soon as he stepped off the sidewalk, he knew that he wouldn’t get the opportunity to make a sick pervert piss himself tonight. Nick could sense a Class A PSY signature blindfolded from twenty yards away. They were like beacons, so overwhelmingly brilliant that he sometimes had trouble concentrating on the person behind all that energy. The whole lot was dead. No one had been there for days, not even a Class C.

For the sake of thoroughness, Nick had climbed into the complex through an empty windowframe, alert for booby-traps or stray shards of glass. The place hadn’t been left long enough to get dank or unpleasant; it was just empty, quiet. Nick had walked the halls and stairwells with his blue PSY-powered lamp in hand, one story at a time, vaguely aware of the passing Cs and Bs on the street and sidewalk below. Then, on the fourth floor…he’d heard a noise behind him. Something a lot like the squeak of a shoe on the bare tile floor. Just a rat or something, he’d thought to himself. If there was another human being in the building, he would have sensed their PSY signature. But Nick had turned anyway, just soon enough to see a dark shape rushing towards him, not soon enough to do anything about it. He’d been dashed to the floor, felt a sharp jab in his shoulder, and then…nothing. A blank space in his memory.

Nick slowly opened his eyes again, taking a single deep breath. There was blue everywhere, eye-searing cyan tile, and a white bowl right in front of his face…a toilet. He was kneeling in a bathroom, and a pretty damn fancy one at that, with soft gold wallpaper, an enormous tub set in the floor, and most importantly, no windows. He couldn’t sense anything or anyone, even though he could feel a man’s hand in his hair, and even hear the guy breathing…when he tried, it was like he was surrounded by a dull, numbing fog.

Drugged. He’d been drugged. Probably an injection of PSYchamine-76 in addition to whatever had been used to knock him out. It was illegal as fuck outside of controlled use in prisons and hospitals, but reliable as far as PSY cancelling drugs went. A dose would suppress a Class C’s PSY for a few days, a Class B’s for eight hours, a Class A’s for two hours, tops—and any dose after the first would have a sharply diminished effect. Nick estimated it wouldn’t work on him for more than thirty minutes. Time was on his side. He just needed to keep his cool, and once he recovered his PSY…

A wave of nausea interrupted Nick’s attempt to put together a plan of action, and this time he couldn’t fight it. The hand in his hair tightened its grip, pushing his head forward, hooking his chin on the rim of the toilet and holding him steady while he vomited. Nick was still coughing and gagging when he was pulled back and then upright. There was a mirror on the wall. Nick caught a brief flash of his own sickly pale face, and behind it, his captor: a tall man, thickly built, in a white button down shirt with neatly rolled up sleeves. The same guy who’d attacked him in the apartment, for sure.

The man finally let go of Nick’s hair, only to grab the back of his neck and shove him between the shoulder blades with the other hand. Nick found himself staring into a sink. A handle squeaked next to his ear, and then he was hit with a blast of icy water. The cold instantly sobered Nick up, giving him in the energy to spit curses and buck backwards, but he was too weak for it to make any difference. The man held him down, pressing a wet cloth against Nick’s face that blocked his nose and mouth for a few panicky seconds. It felt like he was drowning, _being_ drowned, and he was helpless to do anything except twist and squirm until he was finally allowed to take a breath of air.

“Calm down. I’m not trying to kill you,” said the man, right in Nick’s ear. His voice was cold and crisp, with no particular accent that Nick could place. With his sense dulled by the PSYchamine, there was no way Nick could know for sure what he was thinking, but it sounded like there was a hint of scornful amusement within all that iciness, and it infuriated him.

“I’d like to see you try, shithead,” Nick snarled, and then puked again, or at least his body tried to. His shoulders heaved and his stomach wrenched, but there was nothing left in his stomach, and all that came out was a dribble of water. The man still doused him one more time, scrubbing furiously at his mouth. Was this supposed to be torture, or was he just a clean freak? Either way, struggling was pointless with his hands cuffed and a 200 pound thug leaning on his back, so Nick just went limp until it was over.

Pushing Nick’s back against a wall, the man roughly toweled his sopping hair. It was the first time they were face to face, and Nick tried to memorize the man’s features as best he could, in case he needed to pick him out of a line-up later. The man was middle-aged, vaguely Mediterranean, probably in his late forties or fifties, his dark hair flecked with ample amounts of gray. His chiseled face was handsome, in a dated movie-star sort of way that only made Nick hate him more. There was also something vaguely familiar about it…Nick had a pretty good memory for faces, and was certain he’d never spoken to the man before, but he had a nagging feeling that he’d seen him somewhere. A picture in the newspaper, or something on TV…

“This is the only warning I’m ever going to give you,” the man said, casually dropping the towel to the floor and then tilting Nick’s chin upwards. “Keep quiet unless you’re spoken to, and do exactly as you're told. Those are the ground rules. Do you understand?” Nick went stiff and tried to meet the man’s eyes with a look of defiance. They were an unsettling pitch black, just as hard and merciless as everything else about him, and Nick quickly looked away.

“I said, do you understand?” Releasing Nick’s chin, the man slapped him lightly with the back of his hand, first one cheek, then the other. It barely even hurt, but Nick still felt himself flush with humiliation.

“I get it,” said Nick, resisting the urge to just fling back more curses and insults. Provoking the man who held all the power at the moment wasn’t wise. It was time to pull out the innocent kid act, which had gotten him out of plenty of scrapes, though he’d never been in one quite this bad. “Look, buddy, I don’t know you, I don’t know what you want. Just don’t hurt me, okay? I think you’ve made some sort of mistake, but if you want money, I can take you to an ATM and--” The man interrupted Nick with another slap, a harder one that knocked his head against the wall.

“I haven’t made a mistake,” replied the man coolly. “You may not recognize me, but I know everything there is to know about you, Nicholas Harper.” Nick felt a chill, like an ice cube dropped down the back of his shirt. This guy knew who he was, which probably meant he knew exactly _what_ he was, as well. To anyone who wasn’t a fellow Class S, aka 99.999% of the population, Nick’s signature resembled nothing more than an inoffensive C Class’s. Psychologists, PSYchologists, and evolutionary biologists had all sorts of theories about why things were that way, but that was just how it worked; the superior classes were naturally concealed from the lower. So Nick must have been set up, betrayed by someone with insider information about his identity. This man was serious. What did he want? Did he think he could get a ransom from the government? Or was he a relative, a partner in crime, out for revenge for some past collar? There were other possibilities, but they hardly bore thinking about.

“No one's going to just hand over a ransom, even for me,” said Nick, still clinging to the faint hope that the man could be reasoned with. “If they don’t track you down right away, it’ll still take days to come to a decision. You can’t keep me drugged that long.”

“You’re a slow learner,” the man said. This time Nick was ready for the slap, though tensing up didn’t make it hurt any less. His lower lip stung, sliced open by his teeth, and a metallic taste filled his mouth. Nick spat wordlessly at his captor, and was satisfied to see flecks of pink stain the front of the man’s immaculate white shirt, at least until the man drove his fist into his stomach. The pain flared outwards and his vision flashed with stars. Nick’s knees buckled, and he started to slide to the floor, but the man seized him by the hair, hauling him back upwards.

Nick shouted wordlessly, trying to jerk away even when it felt like he was being scalped. The man held on with grim fortitude, letting him kick, scream, and batter himself against the wall until he’d exhausted himself with his efforts. Nick eventually leaned back against the wall, gasping for breath, too angry and scared to even think. That was when the man lifted him off the tile entirely, slinging him headfirst over a shoulder and carrying him bodily from the bathroom.

Dangling down the man’s back was dizzying and disorienting, especially with his stomach aching and his hands cuffed behind his back, but Nick still managed to register that he was being taken down a plushly carpeted hallway, with several closed doors on both sides. The huge bathroom had made him think of a posh hotel, but hallway reminded him of a home…though not one from the same neighborhood as that old apartment complex. He was being held in someone’s home, probably miles from where he’d actually been taken.

One arm clamped securely around Nick’s midsection, the man entered a half-open door and brought him into a dimly lit room. This one was something like a living room, furnished with a stark, modernist decor that screamed money. There was a window, too, which let Nick confirm that it was late at night. He’d been out for a few hours. The PSYchamine-76 injection had probably come just before he woke up, though.

The man leaned forward to set Nick down on the floor, relatively gently, though the next thing he did was to push him back to his knees in front of a long white sofa, keeping a warning hand on top of his head. There was a woman in jeans and a lavender shirt sprawled on the sofa, lying face down, so still that Nick wondered for a moment if she was even still alive. She had long, white-blonde hair that flowed all the way down her back, and one delicate bare foot dangling from the armrest of the sofa, with the other leg curled up under her. The man reached out, resting a hand on the small of her back, and the dangling foot gave a little twitch, to Nick’s relief.

“Wake up, Luka,” the man said, his tone not nearly as imperious as it had been with Nick. If anything, it was gentle, fond. The woman let out a muffled, indecipherable noise in response. “I have a present for you. Worth getting up for, I promise.”

The woman lifted her head. She was certainly beautiful, with fine cheekbones and long white lashes, but she attracted Nick’s attention for an entirely different reason. He’d felt something from her, a faint pulse of energy as she woke up, then the steady glow of her signature as she sat up, linked her fingers, and stretched her arms out luxuriously, narrowly missing Nick’s head. The drug was wearing off, and now that he could sense again, it wouldn’t be long before he could use his PSY directly.

He could tell that the woman was no threat, a Class C, perfectly normal…Nick frowned. Perfectly normal probably wasn’t the right word. Wasn't Luka a man's name? He noticed that she was quite tall, now that she was sitting up. And she didn't have so much as a hint of a bust…The shirt and the hair had thrown Nick off. This guy might have about the daintiest feet he’d ever seen, but was most definitely a he when viewed from the front. So his slap-happy kidnapper had a boyfriend. There wasn’t much left that could surprise him now.

“This is why you were out all night? You were getting the present?” Luka tilted his head to the side and looking first at Nick, then up at the other man. His voice was soft, lilting, and carried a definite accent. Something Eastern European. Russian, maybe? Nick had no clue. Luka’s PSY signature remained perfectly steady, portraying no surprise or distress at waking up to discover a handcuffed prisoner.

“Sorry if I worried you. I wanted it to be a surprise.” Nick turned his sense on the first man, frowning. Still nothing. It was fucking bizarre. He could see him, hear him, and certainly feel his hand, but as far as his higher sense went, he might as well have been nothing but a mannequin shaped like a man.

Sometimes the right answer was the simplest. The guy had to be a Void: a person lower than even the feeblest Class C, unlucky enough to be the one in every million born without PSY. Nick would have pitied the poor bastard, if he hadn’t taken advantage of his disability to sneak up on him. For all his muscle, this man wasn't anything close to a real threat--he’d be unable to put up even token resistance against a PSY assault. Just a little longer…

“He’s so beautiful, Isidore,” Luka murmured. “You must have gone to great trouble. Thank you.” He rose, smoothly linking his arm with the other man’s and nuzzling his shoulder affectionately. Nick felt the pressure of the hand on his head lift, heard the wet sound of lips on skin, but purposefully didn’t look up, trying to keep a low profile. Things were getting better by the second. His captor and the crossdresser were doing a great job of distracting each other, even if their conversation had him thoroughly convinced that they were both fucking nuts. Talking about him like he wasn’t even there, calling him a _present_ …Nick shuddered. Who knows what they were planning to do to him? He wasn’t about to sit there and find out.

Using PSY to unlock handcuffs was child’s play, the first trick he’d been taught in his six months of special training. This was just one of the reasons why the police had switched to special, electrically powered cuffs decades ago, and left the lock and key kind to the fetishists. Nick concentrated, sending the faintest little spark of PSY down his aching arms to fiddle with the lock. It immediately released with a tiny click, and he glanced at the two lovebirds. They were still hugging, Luka wrapped so tightly in Isidore’s arms that it was a wonder he could still breath. Nick hated to interrupt such a tender moment, but he was ready to get out of here. Maybe the chief would let him sleep before the endless questioning and taking of statements began…

Luka squeaked with surprise as his lover abruptly went stiff, arms whipping back to his sides. Sure, it was probably wiser to disable the one with PSY before he went for the Void, but Nick wasn’t about to forget those fucking slaps, so he started with Isidore. As Nick got to his feet, letting the handcuffs fall to the floor, Isidore crumpled to his knees like a puppet with cut strings. Controlling someone without any PSY at all was really too easy…Nick didn’t _feel_ anything, no response or recoil at all against his mental commands. Even if the fucker deserved it, he needed to be careful not to get carried away, or he’d kill him without even meaning to.

Having figured out the reason for Isidore’s sudden collapse, Luka was now staring at Nick with comically enormous eyes. They were about the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Pretty, even on a man, but then again, everything about the blond-haired man was pretty. He looked more like a doll than he did a human man or a human woman.

“Get on your knees and put your hands behind your head,” Nick ordered him. He could have just used his PSY to enforce instant compliance, but PSY domination was unpleasant even if the subject didn’t fight it, and Nick found he didn’t particularly want to harm Luka if he didn't have to. Plus, dominating two people at once, while well within his ability, was a major pain in the ass.

“Let Isidore go,” whispered Luka. “You’re hurting him.” Nick glanced down at the kneeling man. His face was twisted into a fierce grimace of pain and fury. He wasn’t crying, and he hadn’t pissed himself, which meant he was faring better than most, but Nick still felt no respect and no pity, just vicious contempt.

“Not so fucking big when you’re the one on your knees, huh?” said Nick. He drew back his foot. It wasn’t like he would really injure the man, but he figured he owed him at least a kick or two. Before he could complete the motion, though, he felt what could only be described as a _buzz_ , a sort of painless shock, running up his spine to his brain. Then came pain, pain far beyond a slap or a kick, like a metal spike being driven straight into his forehead. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t feel anything beyond that pain. He couldn’t even scream, because to scream he needed a throat, a mouth, a tongue, and it didn’t seem like he had any of those things any more.

 _Unpleasant_ , said an odd, detached part of himself. Was this what they felt, all the murderers and rapists he was sent to take down? Was this what...

When Nick returned to his body, he was lying on the floor, his arms and legs spread wide apart. His face was soaked with tears, and Luka was on top of him, knees neatly straddling Nick’s midsection. Moving was impossible. He didn’t just feel numb. There was simply no connection between his mind and his body. With some effort, Nick was able to close and open his eyes, but that was the absolute limit of what he could do.

“It’s all right,” said Luka, brushing away some of the gathered tears with his fingertips. “The hard part is over now. Shh, shh…” His energy flowed through Nick, steady, serene, and almost calming. It still felt sickeningly invasive.

Even when Nick had disabled Isidore, there had been no telltale surge of alarm in Luka’s signature. Nick should have noticed that, should have been paying attention, but just as it had been unthinkable to him that he might be attacked by a Void, it was equally unthinkable that someone else’s PSY might be superior to his, and therefore concealed from him. He was a Class S, one of twelve in the entire city of Mirapolis. The PSY signature of every human on the planet should have been an open book. And no one, absolutely no one, should ever have been able to dominate him. It was scientifically impossible.

Nick felt himself start to tremble, far more scared than he’d ever been before in his life. Apparently he was allowed that much movement. Allowed. Because Luka was in him now, had torn down all his internal barriers like they were made of wet cardboard, and if he wanted to stop Nick from trembling, or blinking, or breathing, he could do it with a thought. He could also…if he wanted to, he could…Nick’s breath hitched in his chest, the start of a sob. Oh fuck. Before long, they’d be picking apart what was left of his brain in the mental forensics department.

“None of that, now,” said Luka, petting his hair. “I'm not going to hurt you. The power isn’t meant for hurting.”

“It’s true,” said Isidore, from the sofa. Nick couldn’t turn his neck to look at him, but the voice alone was murderous. “Luka is soft-hearted. Hurting you is _my_ job.”


	2. Friction

Only minutes ago, Nick had been fighting off the effects of the PSYchamine, desperate to regain his senses and his PSY, but that nauseated, drugged haze now seemed preferable to the alternative. He’d never actually thought about what PSY domination felt like. It might be a common anxiety for Class As and Class Bs, but for Nick, it had always been a comfortable impossibility, nothing worth dwelling on for long.

He knew now that it was awful.

It didn’t hurt, although his memory of the initial pain was still so fresh and vivid that it was almost as bad as the real thing. Nick’s thoughts were perfectly clear and unclouded. Initially, he’d been hyper-aware of Luka’s presence, the crawling sensation of a foreign invader taking control of his body and his PSY, but that sensation soon faded as he grew accustomed to it. That was why it was so awful. Sprawled on his back, unable to move a single muscle, there was nothing for him to do other than think about what it would be like to have his mind and personality put through a shredder. How long would it take for PSY of Luka’s caliber to destroy everything that made Nick Nick? Would it hurt? Maybe it wouldn’t, and that was the scariest thought of all, because maybe it had already begun, and Nick didn’t even realize it.

His captors were ignoring him, for the moment, but Nick knew better than to hope it would last. Luka had joined Isidore on the sofa, where he was shaking off the aftereffects of Nick’s PSY assault. Nick was forced to stare straight up at the ceiling, but he could hear them, even if he couldn’t see them.

“I’m sorry, Isidore. I should have acted more quickly. That boy has a sweet face, but he’s a sly one.”

“No, it’s my own fault. I trusted the PSYchamine for too long.” Isidore shifted, hissing softly between his teeth.

“Your head hurts? You want aspirin?”

“Could use a scotch.”

"I don't think so. That will just make it worse.”

“Don’t be such a mother hen. I’m fine.” Unfortunately, Isidore seemed to be right about that much. He was speaking clearly, without any slurring or confusion, proof that he was recovering quickly. Nick had only dominated him for about a minute before Luka interfered and broke the connection…plus, he was a Void. Who knew how that might affect things.

“I'll get you some water. Water helps,” announced Luka. He rose, stepping delicately over Nick on his way out of the room.

“I said scotch!” Isidore barked, but without venom. Once Luka was gone, he groaned low in his throat, and then there was quiet. In the pause, Nick reflected on how _normal_ they were both acting. Sure, they were both men, but it wasn’t like Nick was a homophobe. They showed concern and affection, at least on the surface. They teased like any couple would. No signs of tension or unease, no acknowledgement that there was another living person in the room…Nick might as well have been furniture. These men were dangerous.

Luka returned, handing over what Nick assumed was the water to Isidore. Then he walked over to Nick, dropping into a crouch right beside him.

“You can sit up now,” said Luka. Nick discovered that he could. He propped himself up on his elbows and managed to push himself upright. He probably would have fallen right back down if Luka hadn’t supported him with an arm behind his back. Now Nick was able to see Isidore, leaning back on the sofa and sipping from a glass. He could also see that Luka was offering him an identical glass.

“Have a drink, darling,” said Luka. Nick shook his head, mostly just testing the motion. He could move again, even if it was slow and shaky.

“Why not? You’re not thirsty?” Nick was thirsty, now that he thought about it and he knew accepting the water was the rational thing to do. He’d been vomiting, which could lead to dehydration pretty damn fast, and he didn’t know when his next opportunity would be to drink anything. Sure, the water might be drugged, but what would be the point of that when Luka could just use PSY to knock him out?

Carefully, with both hands, Nick took the glass and drank. The water was cool and tasteless. He remembered watching a movie where a kidnapped, blindfolded detective used the taste of the water to determine where she was being held, but he wasn’t quite that talented.

There was a sharp clinking sound, and Nick flinched, nearly inhaling the water. Isidore had set down his glass on the coffee table, and was now staring at Nick with a grim promise in his eyes. Without a PSY signature, he was lifeless and blank …but that look was anything but empty.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you did to me, Nicholas,” he said when their eyes met. “There are going to be consequences for your little stunt.”

“Nobody calls me fucking Nicholas, _Isidore_ ,” Nick muttered into his glass. Isidore stood abruptly--he’d heard.

“I’ll call you whatever I like,” said Isidore, moving towards him with slow, deliberate steps. “And for your part, I’d suggest you call me sir.” Luka still had an arm around Nick’s shoulders, leaving him nowhere to retreat. He faced Isidore with his chin up, trying to control his trembling. It wasn’t like he really wanted to get the shit beaten out of him, which was surely what was coming. With Luka in his head, proving to himself that he was still capable of resisting was a matter of survival.

“I know you’re anxious to play with your present,” said Isidore. “But he needs to be disciplined first. May I?” He was talking to Luka, Nick realized.

“Now, now. He used his power on you, but then I used my power on him. It evens out,” said Luka. His arm tightened around Nick’s shoulder, almost protectively.

“And I’m supposed to forget about his foul mouth?”

“He’s young, and he hasn’t had any training. He doesn’t know any better.” Luka’s voice was soft and cajoling. Nick almost wanted to laugh. He wasn’t stupid, and wasn’t going to be tricked into thinking that either of these crazies were on his side. Still, he kept his mouth shut and let them argue it out.

“All the more reason he needs to be taught.” Isidore bent down, catching Nick’s chin and giving it a sharp squeeze. It was so sudden that Nick couldn’t suppress a choked noise of pain.

“He’s very scared already. I can feel it,” said Luka. Isidore seemed to be thinking as he rubbed his thumb near the corner of Nick’s lip.

“Fine,” Isidore said at last. “I’ll let it go—if I get an apology. Here, I’ll even tell you what to say: ‘I’m sorry for my misbehavior, sir.’ Can you manage that?” His hand loosened enough that Nick could talk, but his thumb continued roving around, tracing Nick’s cheekbone. It was pretty tempting, all in all. Just a few words to placate the man and save himself some pain. It wasn’t like Nick had to actually mean what he said.

“I’m waiting, Nicholas,” said Isidore, and the red-hot fury that rushed through Nick’s veins surprised even himself. God damn it all, he wasn’t going to play along with their sick games!

“Don’t touch me, you fucking Void freak!” Nick yelled, and swung for Isidore’s head with the glass in his hand. His wrist was caught and wrenched aside, and most of the remaining water ended up splashed onto his own jacket. Then he got to experience being dragged upright by the neck, his arms gone suddenly limp, the glass falling from his nerveless fingers. It hurt, but Nick was almost glad for the pain at that point. Pain reminded him that he was fighting back, and not sitting there like a dumb animal while this shithead sneered at him.

Isidore’s face was livid, his free hand a tight fist ready to swing. Nick braced himself, turning his face to the side, but the punch didn’t come. Instead, Isidore released Nick’s neck, lowered his fist, and backed away. Somehow, the mask of perfect calm that he now wore was a lot more chilling than his angry glower.

“You’re right, Luka,” said Isidore, shaking his head. “He’s just a child. A stupid, disrespectful brat. And how are brats dealt with?”

“They have to be punished,” said Luka with a frown.

“That’s right. I’m taking him to the basement. Help me out, would you?” Isidore abruptly turned to the door, and Nick followed him. Going after him was about the last thing he wanted to do, but the muscles in his legs moved without his consent. Luka took up the rear, and they marched in a bizarre line down the hallway and into a small, tightly angled staircase. Nick closed his eyes during the dizzying descent, certain that he was going to fall, but with Luka in charge of his body, he didn’t have to see to navigate. Then, when he reached the bottom, he found that he couldn’t open them again. It was like his eyelids had been glued shut.

“Relax,” Luka whispered in his ear. “I’ll let you open your eyes again in a moment. Just focus on me.” Without his sight or any good sense of his body, Nick had no choice but to orient himself by Luka’s PSY signature, a steady pulse from behind him that provided reassurance that he wasn’t totally alone in a black void.

They’d stopped walking, or at least Nick thought they had. The air was chillier here, cold enough that he could feel it even through his windbreaker, and there was a hint of an odd smell…was it shoe polish?

“Put him up on the bench,” said Isidore, so close by that Nick startled. He’d totally lost track of him. Nick felt himself lean forward, resting his chest on something with a bit of give to it. Leather, he decided, as Luka made him turn his head to the side. Then Nick’s knees lifted up, one at a time, onto some surface lower than the rest of the bench, so that he was sort of kneeling. It wasn’t exactly a painful position, especially with his head and chest cushioned, but his legs were a little too far apart, and his arms were held awkwardly behind his back. Then he felt straps tightening around his thighs and ankles, followed by rough rope knotting around his wrists, instantly transforming his discomfort into full-blown panic.

He was already bound, in a sense, by Luka’s PSY, but the sensation of the physical bindings sent him over the edge. Then he felt a rope looping around his _neck,_ just under his chin—uncomfortably tight, squeezing him whenever he swallowed. A hand stroked along his forehead and neck, brushing the hair away from his face, pulling it out from under the rope…then pinching hard at the fleshy part of his cheek.

“No,” gasped Nick, trying to jerk his head away and choking himself in the process. That was how he discovered he could move and speak again, and his eyes flew open. He could see…gray concrete walls, old but clean, lit by a bare bulb from above. Luka, sitting in a metal folding chair with his legs crossed and his chin in his hand, looking pensive.

“You don’t seem impressed,” said Isidore, from his blind side. Nick hated not being able to watch him, but the rope was too tight for him to even risk trying to turn his head. “I think you're going to be spending an awful lot of time here, so get used to it, brat.” No, Nick told himself. This was the place where he was being held captive. The place where he would be spending several more hours, at best, and several more days, at absolute worst. Even if he wasn’t able to escape on his own, help was coming, and all he had to do was wait for it.

Isidore began to walk around the back of the bench, trailing his hand down Nick’s body, until he stood directly behind him. Nick held himself perfectly still, not wanting to reveal his unease by squirming. Then Isidore stuck his hand beneath Nick’s body, groping for the button on his jeans. He had them undone before Nick could fully grasp what he’d done. Giving an undignified shout of surprise, Nick started to struggle, but Isidore just pushed down on his back with one arm and jerked his pants down with the other. Next came his boxers, exposing Nick’s bare ass to the cold air.

“Stop it! You think that’s funny? You think it’s fucking funny, pervert?” Nick shouted.

Isidore didn’t reply, but patted one of Nick’s ass cheeks lightly, causing him to start strangling himself again in a fruitless effort to get away. It was only when his head was spinning and his vision flashed white that he was finally forced give up and go limp. The other man’s intent was obvious. Nick was about to be raped, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it.

Nick closed his eyes, clenching his teeth so hard that it hurt, and waited for pain. Isidore seemed to be in no hurry, though. He moved away for a bit, before suddenly reappearing in front of Nick’s eyes with something in his hands. It was a flat wooden paddle on a short handle, with two rows of little holes drilled in it. He held it up, turning it one way and then the other so that Nick could get a good look at it.

“This is your punishment,” said Isidore, straight-faced. “I’m going to beat you with this. Ten strokes. Hardly a punishment at all, but there’s a catch. For every word that comes out of your mouth that isn’t ‘please’ or ‘sir,’ you’re getting another stroke.”

“What the _fuck?_ ” Nick wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or not. “Keep me out of your Daddy fetish, you sick fuck. Go spank your fucking boyfriend if that’s what gets you off.” Nick’s eyes involuntarily went to Luka, who frowned and raised an eyebrow.

“That was twenty-four words. You’re up to thirty-four strokes. I hope you’re prepared,” said Isidore. Even though he spoke without emotion, he was clearly finding this amusing. Nick didn’t think it was quite so hilarious. This was just a humiliation tactic, and yeah, Nick would say that being tied down with his naked ass in the air and a psycho about to _spank_ him was pretty fucking humiliating. But if Isidore thought that would be enough to break Nick’s will and make him beg for mercy, he was an idiot.

Isidore went back behind him, out of sight. There was a whistling sound, a whoosh of cold air against Nick’s skin…a test swing. Then—

“Shit!” Nick hissed, the cracking sound the paddle made against his flesh registering before the sting, right where his buttocks and legs met. The pain was sharp enough that he’d been taken by surprise, but he was ready for the next one, and managed to keep quiet. Isidore smacked him with the paddle five more times, maintaining a slow, steady rhyme, but hitting him in a different spot every time. Nick involuntarily jolted forward a bit with each blow. The motion had the side effect of tightening the rope around his neck…and rubbing his cock against the leather edge of the bench.

To Nick’s own disbelief, he felt a warmth and tightness from below, quite apart from his stinging, burning ass. A series of five rapid blows came next, one after the other, hitting the exact same spot every time. It _hurt_ , it fucking hurt, enough that Nick involuntarily squirmed from side to side. That only stimulated his cock more, and the pain did nothing to kill his arousal. He could feel himself starting to get hard, his face burning just as hot as his ass.

Physiology, Nick told himself. Nothing but human physiology and friction. Bundles of sensitive nerves. Lack of airflow to the brain. Adrenaline and endorphin release from the pain. All that stuff from high school biology. He wasn’t enjoying this, it had nothing to do with enjoyment, it was just his body reacting to the stimulus. Nick repeated that to himself over and over, but he knew Isidore had to have noticed, and that made him want to die.

More blows came, dangerously low, dangerously close to striking his tightening balls. This time Isidore didn’t stop after just five hits. Nick was battered mercilessly until he lost count, until he yelped aloud with pain, until he started lifting his ass upwards towards the paddle, just so that he wouldn’t have to keep pressing his swollen cock against the bench.

“And here I thought I was punishing you,” he heard Isidore say.

“Shut the hell up.” Nick was on the verge of tears from the sheer indignity of it all. The next strokes were hardly blows at all, just taps against the thickest part of his ass. Nick knew it wasn’t kindness. He was being toyed with, and he hated it far more than the swift, painful blows.

There were harsh strokes, too, interspersed with the gentle ones, with no pattern Nick could prepare himself for. He had no idea how many strokes were left and how much longer he’d have to endure. Although Nick despised himself for it, he eventually started crying. At first it was silent, the tears leaking out and beading on the leather, but soon harsh sobs were building in his chest, and he had to let them out. He tried to twist his head in the bindings, desperate to hide his face and muffle the noise, but then Luka was there, holding his head firmly in place with hands rather than PSY.

“Poor thing. Don’t be ashamed. You’ve been very brave,” Luka murmured. With one hand, he gently combed through Nick’s sweat-soaked hair, but his other hand was down his pants. That made Nick feel betrayed, somehow, at least until more strokes from the paddle made him forget everything except the burning pain and the unbearable pressure. It kept building, building and building and building, like steam in a kettle, only every time Nick felt like he was about to reach a breaking point, the blows would stop, and the sensations would ebb.

Eventually, there came a long pause, long enough that Nick dared to hope that it was over. But then, instead of hitting him, Isidore rubbed and kneaded ceaselessly at one of his excruciatingly sore ass cheeks. The soft touch only worsened both the pain and Nick’s arousal.

“Stop,” Nick pleaded, and though he was truly desperate, there was still something in him that kept him from adding one of the words he knew his tormenter wanted to hear. _Please._

“Frankly, I don’t think you want it to stop,” said Isidore, switching to the other cheek and continuing the motion, then finishing it off with a quick slap from his palm. He moved up to stand beside Luka. Then he extended the paddle, pressing the edge of it against Nick’s lips.

“But I’ll give you one last chance. Kiss it like the little whore that you are. Then thank me and tell me how much you loved it. Do that and it’s over.” Nick closed his eyes as the paddle nudged between his lips and against his teeth, tasting like salt and bitterness. He remained silent, not trusting himself to speak. He wouldn’t say it. If he said it, he would start believing it himself.

“Interesting,” continued Isidore. “Now you go quiet. What’s that mouth of yours good for, anyway?” Drawing back the paddle, he traced Nick’s lips with the tip of a finger, toying with them ever so lightly, pinching at the bottom one. Why the fuck was he so fixated on Nick’s fucking mouth?

“Have you ever sucked cock before, Nicholas?” Isidore asked him, his tone conversational. Nick jerked, letting out a wordless noise of shock. He tried to draw away, only to be throttled for what felt like the hundredth time by the rope around his neck. There was no escape.

“I’ll take that as a no,” said Isidore. He laughed at Nick’s terror, a short and unfamiliar little sound that was full of warmth and amusement. “Open his mouth, Luka.”

‘No, wait, please,’ was what Nick tried to say, but it came out as a nothing but a wet garbling as his mouth forced itself open. Nick sobbed, the humiliation too much to bear when Isidore stuck two thick fingers deep inside his mouth, roughly pressing down on his tongue until he retched. Withdrawing his fingers, Isidore wiped the spit off against Nick’s cheek…and walked away. Nick followed him with his eyes as far as he could, trembling. He didn’t know which he was more scared of: the pain of being fucked in the ass, or the awful intimacy of being forced to give a blowjob.

There was a rustling sound and a clinking of metal from Nick’s blind side.

“You’re being awfully cruel,” said Luka, his tone mildly scolding.

“Give me a break. You know what cruel is. This is just training.” Isidore moved back into view and handed the paddle to Luka. He was holding a tangle of leather straps, with bits of bright metal attached. One of those pieces of metal was a wide ring. Isidore slotted it into Nick’s open mouth, behind his teeth, ignoring his wordless noises of protest. A strap went behind Nick’s head, two up over his forehead, another under his chin, holding the ring securely in place. Luka released Nick’s mouth once the gag was buckled, but Nick’s jaw was still held achingly wide.

Isidore pulled something out from behind his back, something Nick hadn’t even realized he was concealing. Nick hadn’t thought it was possible to feel any more shame, but now he shuddered, sickened with humiliation. It was a flesh-colored plastic dildo, modeled to look like an actual cock, complete with a pair of balls. Please, please, _please,_ Nick tried to say, and even though the gag distorted his words, he had a feeling Isidore understood him perfectly. The man grinned down at him like a shark.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s too late for that.” Then he shoved the dildo through the gag. It was so much thicker than it looked, and felt as if it were filling up every small corner of his mouth, suffocating him. Pressing against it with his tongue was useless; Isidore kept pushing it further in, until the slightly curved end threatened to slip down Nick’s throat. Then he pulled it back a bit, giving Nick a few seconds of relief before he thrust it back in. Isidore repeated the motion several times, fucking his mouth with the toy, until finally, when it was about halfway in, he twisted a knob on the ring and locked the dildo in place.

“Give it a good suck, brat,” he said to Nick, patting his cheek. “When you’re done with it, I’ll give you a taste of the real thing.” Nick whimpered, the sound barely audible through his mouthful of rubber, and closed his eyes. He tried to imagine he was somewhere else, but it was impossible. He couldn’t ignore the dildo stuffing his face and blocking his breathing, or the rope around his neck, or the continued burn in his ass, or even the faint heat that still lingered in his cock. He sniffled, the tears running down his face just a small part of his utter humiliation.

The whistling noise was his only warning. Nick screamed, his mouth scraping painfully against the ring as the paddle came down on his ass, and continued screaming even afterwards, unable to stop.

“Did you forget I still owe you ten more strokes?” said Isidore. He laughed. “Just be grateful I gagged you, or we’d be here until morning.”


	3. Union

“It’s over. Your punishment is over now. Easy. There won’t be any more pain.” If it weren’t for Luka’s words, Nick might not have realized that the beating was over. He’d barely felt the individual blows of the paddle, the final ten strokes blending together into a blur of misery. His cheeks were soaked with tears, and his involuntary groan was obscenely distorted by the rubber cock in his mouth. Every noise he made or tear he shed was just that much more satisfaction for these two sadistic fucks, but Nick could hardly even bring himself to care, as long as it really was over.

Nick’s eyes were closed. When he heard Isidore moving back towards his head, he just shut them tighter. Being able to see what was coming was no help when he was bound by straps, ropes, and overwhelming PSY alike. Better not to look. Easier to pretend this was some sort of nightmare, and not reality.

A hand, Isidore’s judging by the weight and size of it, was laid on Nick’s head. It didn’t hurt. Isidore just moved it back and forth—ruffling Nick’s hair. The contact made Nick’s skin crawl, but he just pressed his cheek against the sweat-slick surface of the bench, trying to focus the smoothness and warmth of the leather. After a few moments of soft petting, Isidore started using his other hand to play with the gag, wiggling a finger until it slipped beneath the already taut strap on Nick’s cheek.

“Shutting me out won’t work,” Isidore said. Nick felt a puff of warm breath, right where his neck met his ear. Then there was moisture, light pressure from tongue and lips. “I’m not through with you yet.”

“Isidore. He’s had enough.” For the first time, Luka’s voice was less than mild. Isidore pressed one last kiss against Nick’s chin, then removed his fingers from the beneath the strap and his hand from Nick’s curls.

“He deserves more than a few swats to the backside,” Isidore replied.

_“_ You said he was my present. I get to decide what he deserves. Or were you being sly, bringing me a present that you really want all for yourself?”

“He needs to be disciplined, so I’m disciplining him. That’s it.”

"You liar! Do you think I’m blind? Look at how hard you are.” Nick heard the sound of a zipper coming undone, but still didn’t open his eyes. Please let them distract each other. Let them forget about him, at least for a few seconds.

“The boy has had enough from you,” said Luka in a low voice. “Why don’t you sit and watch for a while? I know you can endure it.” Even though Luka wasn’t even talking to Nick, the sibilant sound of his voice was impossible to ignore, and every word made Nick’s stomach twist with something like hope. For whatever reason, Luka was protecting him. It had to be a trick, a sick game the two of them had worked out between them to break him down even further. Isidore’s heavy footsteps moved away, and the metal chair creaked. He’d really listened?

“Poor thing. Those ropes are very tight, aren’t they?” said Luka, very close, somewhere above him. Nick assumed that he was being mocked, and was outright astonished when he felt a tug on the ropes binding his neck. Even the slightest amount of pressure hurt, but Nick didn’t move or make a sound until his head was free. Luka circled his neck lightly with a finger.

“Look at this,” Luka said. “All red and chafed…the skin is broken here. And he’s already starting to bruise.”

“Because he pulled on it,” said Isidore.

“Still! You would never use a choke chain on one of your dogs, would you?”

“Of course not. I have respect for dogs,” said Isidore. A shudder ran down Nick’s spine. He had a feeling that the man meant what he said; to him, Nick was less than an animal.

“Now, now, it’s all right,” soothed Luka. “Ignore him. It’s just the two of us now.” Luka untied Nick’s arms as well, but they were hardly free. They uncurled from their awkward position behind his back until they were perpendicular to his shoulders, stretching towards the floor. His fingers curled around the legs of the bench, gripping them tightly. At first it was painful, but the sense of release in his tense and aching shoulders felt so good that Nick couldn’t even resent being posed like a puppet.

“There, that should be more comfortable,” said Luka. And it was. Nick’s muscles gradually began to relax, other than his hands, which were permanently latched onto the bench. Gradually, his harsh, shallow breathing around the dildo in his mouth started to even out.

Luka then began to stroke Nick’s face. Luka’s touch was so different from Isidore’s, which promised pain even when it was gentle. There was no pinching, no tugging, no playing with the straps of the gag or sticking fingers in his mouth. It was even and predictable, just like the soft glow of Luka’s PSY signature. It felt…good…

“Now, now, no falling asleep. Let me see those pretty green eyes,” said Luka. Nick felt a small pang of unease. For some reason, he didn’t want to open his eyes. Easier…something would be easier…but wouldn’t it be easier to just do what he was told?

When Nick finally did open them, Luka’s face was the only thing he could see. He was leaning in so close that his chin was almost resting on the edge of the bench. There were bright patches of color high on his pale cheeks. But his eyes…The blue of Luka’s unblinking eyes was so overwhelmingly brilliant that Nick felt like he was being submerged in it.

“Isidore called you Nicholas.” Luka’s voice seemed muffled and strange, somehow, as if they were both underwater. “Nick. Is that what you go by? That’s a nice name. I’ll call you that, too.” Nick felt another twinge of unease. Who would have told them that? How did they know his name? These men were…strangers…

Luka smiled softly, distracting Nick from his doubt. Then he moved his hand from Nick’s cheek down to his neck. Nick flinched and whined, remembering the awful constriction of the rope, the hurt that had been left there…but there was no hurt. Luka’s touch was still painless. In fact, Nick didn’t feel much of anything anywhere. Why was he so numb?

“You think too much. There’s nothing to worry about. This is your first time, so I’ll go very slowly. I promise it’ll feel good.” First time?. First time for what? Although Nick could only grunt in frustration instead of asking questions, Luka seemed to understand.

“I’m talking about union, Nick. PSY union. That is the English word, I think? Physical union and true union…I can tell that you’re a virgin to both.”

_Union._ The word blasted through Nick’s brain like a bullet, shredding his false calm. He screamed into the gag and tried to wrench himself away from the bench, but his hands might as well have been nailed to it, and Luka was pinning him by the back of his neck with a firm hand. All of the fear and horror and pain he should have been feeling for the past few minutes rushed through him all at once. Something was wrong. Everything was wrong. Luka was in him, controlling his mind as well as his body, peeling it apart. He had to resist, he had to escape—but for the moment, all he could do was recall the first and last time he’d attempted union.

He’d been so scared. Not scared like he was now. Scared of disappointing her and humiliating himself, scared of being found out. This was _it_ , this was the moment, a perfect opportunity; his parents were at the opera, his little sister was at sleepaway camp, and they had the apartment to themselves.

Sarah’s shirt was already off, one hand running up his thigh. She was looking at him, wondering what the fuck he was waiting for. Sarah was Nick’s girlfriend of six months, a Class C, and not nearly as scared as he was, her PSY signature humming with excitement and impatience. Nick had never found the right time to tell her he wasn’t a Class C, too. If he told her, she’d hate him for lying to her. Besides, his parents, counselors and doctors were unanimous: it had to stay a secret. He didn’t want to have to change schools again.

“Nick, come on. I want to go all the way with you. I want union,” she’d said.

All Nick had wanted was for it to be over with quickly.

Her mental barriers had folded so easily, but he’d thought it was because she was letting him in. He’d thought everything was normal, that that was how union was supposed to work, until she went stiff and then started to scream. He’d tried to pull back and found that he couldn’t. She’d sobbed wordlessly, her fingernails cutting into his shoulders, but his PSY was beyond his control; they were both trapped. _Shut up_ , _shut up, shut the fuck up,_ he’d thought, because her screams were feeding into his panic and it was impossible to think. _SHUT UP._ She’d gone quiet then, and that had been far worse than the screams.

It was the first time he’d ever used his PSY to dominate. Now, five years later, he was hoping to make a career out of it, just trying to erase her from his mind like a bad dream--

“Did I bring up a bad memory? I’m sorry,” he heard Luka say. _Shut up,_ Nick thought viciously, and tried to ignore Luka, but it was impossible not to hear _._  “I should have known. You’ve been hurt. The world wasn’t built for those like us.” Nick hated him, an awful, coiling, sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach that he clung to desperately, because he knew it was his own feeling.

“I was only trying to calm you,” said Luka. He sighed softly and began to walk toward the rear of the bench, trailing his hand along Nick’s back. Nick could crane his neck around to keep him in view, but only so far. “But if you prefer to be frightened…I can’t force you to accept my help. Either way, we will reach union together. Maybe that’s the only way for you to understand.” Luka was crazy, or a liar, or both. What he was talking about was rape and PSY domination. Not union.

Luka moved out of sight, leaving Nick with an unobstructed view of Isidore, who was leaning back in the folding chair with his legs spread wide apart. It wasn’t a pretty sight, so Nick just closed his eyes again and waited.

He told himself that it was going to be okay. No, not okay— but if he just stayed strong, he could survive long enough to be rescued with his mind intact. Luka could control Nick’s body. He could also control Nick’s simplest and most basic emotions: fear, anger, pleasure. But Nick realized, with a little thought, why Luka hadn’t just sent him back into that submissive haze a second time. Even though there was no way for Nick to resist physically, he could still fight for control of his mind. Luka’s superior PSY would win out in the end, but Nick’s mind could easily be ripped to shreds in the process. Nick didn’t want that, but neither did they. Not if they wanted to keep him aware of what they were doing to him.

Needless to say, there was no chance of union, either. Union was the ultimate symbol of trust and affection, when two people chose to mutually lower all their barriers and defenses and enter each other. For a few moments, they would be united as a single being in two bodies, sharing all experiences and emotions. At least that was what his parents had told him, and his Sex Ed teacher. Exactly what love or sex had to do with it was up for debate, but if Nick had learned one thing from what he’d done to Sarah, it was that you couldn’t force it. His work with the MPD confirmed it; he’d been exposed to some of the most twisted PSY crimes imaginable, but never forced union.

Nick wished he could quell his fear with logic, but he still found himself trembling. Luka had broken all the rules so far, after all. He couldn’t have faith anymore in what was or wasn’t possible, couldn’t tell the difference between a lie and the awful truth.

“Are you ready?” Luka asked from behind him. He sounded so sincere, as if Nick could answer, as if it actually mattered. The question was followed by the soft pop of a cap and a squirting sound. Nick might be a nineteen year old virgin, but he wasn’t an idiot. He knew what that meant.

Nick fully expected Luka to start on his ass right away, and jumped with surprise when he felt a hand on his lower back instead, rubbing circles through his shirt and jacket. Gradually, with excruciating care, the hand went lower, to the very beginning of the cleft between his cheeks. Once he was finally there, Luka acted quickly, slipping his hand into the crack and opening his fingers, spreading Nick’s cheeks just a little further apart, and then—

Nick’s back went rigid and he lunged forward, or at least tried to. His knees were bound in place. No escape from the _cold_ and the awful, foreign probing sensation in a place he was never touched. It was just a single finger, it didn’t hurt, Luka hadn’t even pushed it inside—but Nick couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t lie still and let it happen, even if it just prolonged the horror.

“Sweetheart, no, it’s okay. Lie still now,” said Luka. Nick choked out an unintelligible “fuck you!” and continued to squirm, trying to twist his entire body to the side despite the strain in his shoulders, while Luka tried to hold him down with one hand, and finger him with the other. Plenty of lube ended up smeared on his ass and his thighs, but after only a few moments, Luka ended the struggle. Nick’s body went into lockdown, centered perfectly on the bench. The finger rubbed in circles, over and over and over, with excruciating thoroughness.

“This is to help you,” said Luka softly. “It makes things easier. You understand that, don’t you?”

One slick finger began burrowing deeper. Nick couldn’t even clench against it. It slipped in easily, just the tip, then out, in again, and he felt his face burning, his eyes prickling. It didn’t hurt, not in the slightest, and he was already crying. He was totally immobile, unable to do anything other than blink and whimper. If there had been some way to fight, even if it was useless, Nick might have been able to cope, but Luka’s softness and gentleness was implacable. He couldn’t be stopped and he couldn’t be provoked.

There were two fingers inside him now, but he barely felt the difference until Luka moved them apart, deliberately stretching the rim of his asshole. That didn’t hurt either, but it felt fucking weird, and Nick moaned as he endured the sensation of more cool wetness being pushed deeper inside of him, leaving him slippery both inside and out. It that was bad enough on its own, but as soon as he made the sound, Luka shushed him, slid both fingers out and started pressing and prodding around the rim again. The teasing was unbearable. Wasn’t he ever going to…get on with it?

Both fingers went back in, past the knuckle this time, crooking at the ends once they were inside him. Nick desperately needed to squirm, just to release some of his tension, and felt the first twinge of pain as Luka’s blunt fingernails scraped against him. But when Nick cried out in shock, it was because of the burst of pleasure that seemed to come from within. His eyes leapt open, and he continued to gasp afterwards as tears streamed down his cheeks. What the fuck was that?

Luka was screwing with his mind again. That had to be it. There was no way in hell he was enjoying having another man’s fingers up his ass. Narrowing his eyes and blinking away the tears, Nick fought furiously to think of anything but the pressure and movement below. He imagined getting free, turning on Luka, somehow forcing him down to his knees with PSY…no. He imagined what it would be liked to drive his fist into that perfect face, shattering cartilage and knocking out teeth. Blood, pain, fury—his balls were starting to tighten up. It wasn’t helping.

The pleasure came again, in response to the same practiced motion of Luka’s fingers. Nick should have been able to fight it, to reveal it as a lie, but to his utter disgust, he felt himself starting to get hard again. Was this _real,_ and not just a PSY trick? He was really enjoying being fucking molested? Surely he wasn’t. It wasn’t really him. It didn’t make sense.

“Of course this is real,” said Luka. His voice was serene, but his two fingers were starting to gain a rhythm, pumping in and out steadily with a wet squelching noise. “It would be very quick, very easy, to use the power to pleasure you. But that would be empty pleasure, like pleasure from a needle. Your first time should be better than that.”

There was no way to tell whether he was telling the truth or not. Nick didn’t even know which was worse. When the third finger went in, Nick utterly forgot himself and squeaked, nearly choking on the dildo yet again. He heard a chuckle from Isidore, who was still watching, hungry-eyed, groping himself idly through his pants. This time, Nick didn’t look away. He glared back at Isidore, burning with hatred. The fucking Void freak thought this was just hilarious.

_I wish it were him instead._ The thought came to Nick unbidden, making his cheeks burn. But it was true. Nick would have much rather been fucked bloody by a Void than have to endure this awful teasing, the shame that came along with his slowly growing cock. With Isidore, there would be no uncertainty, just pain and hatred and power. He could be certain that at the end of it, he would still be the same person.

“You’re all opened up now,” said Luka. “Not much longer.” All three fingers were moving inside him, circling and twisting, stretching him wider than he could stand. Just when it seemed like things couldn’t get any worse, Nick felt his body start to shift, his ass lifting up as high as his stretched position would allow.

Luka slowly pulled his fingers out, and there was an awful moment of suction, like Nick’s body was trying to pull them back in. Then he slipped his hand beneath Nick’s body and wrapped his hand around Nick’s cock. He didn’t squeeze or rub, just held it loosely, his touch wet and sticky, but warm from body heat. Nick was quiet. Even when he heard the unmistakable sound of Luka’s jeans being undone, he stayed quiet.

But Luka’s hand started moving, gently, carefully, as if it would distract from the hard flesh nudging at his ass, slipping between them but then resting on top. Nick made a low sound of anguish from deep in his chest, and once he started, he couldn’t stop. His moans were punctuated with the occasional choked hiccup and gasp.

“Shh, shh,” Luka said absently, thumbing the tip of Nick’s cock. “Just let go. You’re still thinking too much.” How exactly was Nick supposed to keep from thinking about a dick brushing up against his ass? He’d thought he was resigned to this, but now that he could _feel_ Luka’s cock, the weight and shape of it, some of his bravery broke down. This wasn’t supposed to happen, help should have come by now, he couldn’t really be this pathetic…but he was.

If Nick could have begged, he probably would have, but instead he just continued to whimper and moan, fear and raw arousal mingling together equally. Luka squirted even more lube onto his cock, the excess dripping down Nick’s skin and gathering in his crack. Nick felt the very tip nudge between his cheeks. Luka took his time lining up just the right angle. The tip of his cock slid in quickly and without pain.

Instead of crying out, Nick lost his voice. His throat worked, but he couldn’t make noise, or maybe he just couldn’t hear the noise he was making, because his whole world had narrowed down to touch and touch alone. He felt every little shift and adjustment within his own body to ease the passage of another man’s cock. Nick wasn’t just letting himself be fucked, he was making it easier.

Luka’s progress was excruciatingly slow. Their bodies moved closer and closer together, and Luka leaned forward, resting one hand on the bench. The silky cloth of his sleeve brushed against Nick’s side, tickling the narrow slash of exposed skin, while Luka continued to lazily pump at his cock. None of that could distract Nick from the hard cock inside him. How could it be so long? It had to end somewhere, but to Nick, it felt like it had been feeding into him for an eternity.

Something soft and silky against Nick’s ass signaled the end, at last. Luka was balls deep inside him, with nowhere left to go. But his cock was a hundred times worse on the way out than it had been on the way in. Again, it felt as if Nick’s body were grasping at Luka’s flesh, desperate for more. There was more friction, more suction, more sensation as Luka pulled out just all slowly as he had thrust in. He pulled out so far that his cocked threatened to fall out, but then, before Nick could catch his breath, Luka was moving forward again.

“There’s no need to hurry,” said Luka breathlessly. “We’re going to have a lot of time to spend together, Nick. But if you want this to go more quickly, you have to let me in.”

_You’re already in me_ , thought Nick. His mind might still be his own, but in a single brief moment of despair, he forgot that it mattered. Luka was skewering him open, and no matter how much Nick hated it, his body was responding eagerly. _You’re already in me_. With that thought, his resolve began to weaken, and Luka pounced on the opportunity.

Suddenly Luka lunged forward, his cock burying itself deep, both hands bearing down on Nick’s back. A surge of pleasure ran through Nick from the base of his groin to the tips of his toes, leaving numbness in its place, and his vision flashed white, blurring with the sheer intensity of it all. Nick could see black leather, _dear Isidore_ , gray walls, harsh bare light, a blue windbreaker, boxers pulled down around his bound knees, a pair of strange slim hands in front of him, his own face turned to the side, with tears streaming down it and _beautiful_ cracked lips stretched wide. _A beautiful gift._  He had two sets of lungs, gasping for air, and two hearts pounding in perfect unison, as he looked down at himself. _Beautiful_. Everything was so bright now, bright with power and potential, and he was the brightest thing of all. _So beautiful._

It was warm. This basement cell had been chilly, and now the air around him was muggy with sweat and lust, but now it was warm…or was he only warm on the inside? He felt like he was huddled under a nice blanket on a cold winter night, like he had drunk down a mug of cocoa, like he was being utterly enveloped with safety and affection. His cock was throbbing, though, begging to be touched, just like all the rest of him. Those strange slim hands were exploring under his T-shirt, stroking and petting him so gently, and there was still a cock inside him, an unmoving, constant presence…a part of him. Hands, bodies, cocks, minds, whispering thoughts in a language he somehow understood, despite not speaking a word of it.

Nick came to himself again, the warmth vanishing like he’d been doused with ice water. He was being held down on a bench and fucked open, although Luka was just pulling out now, the whole thing, it was over. Nick was shaking, whimpering, the pleasure and warmth rapidly siphoning away…he’d come onto the bench. He’d come, and hadn’t even realized it, he’d been so lost in Luka’s consciousness. In their union.

“Six seconds,” said Luka, his voice approving, radiating that same warmth Nick had felt. “Excellent, for your first time. You’re receptive.” Yet it still wasn’t over, not entirely. Luka didn’t touch Nick’s hole, but he was rubbing his cock between Nick’s spread thighs, shallowly fucking them until a new sticky warmth joined the puddles of lube. Nick was too stunned to feel anything. He was just empty, and so very cold.

Luka circled back into Nick’s view, his cock tucked back into his pants, wiping his hands off with a small cloth. He was smiling, but then his eyes narrowed slightly, his brow wrinkling.

“Why are you still crying?” Luka asked him. Nick hadn’t even realized it himself. “You didn't like it? I know it felt good. I felt it, too.” He moved his face closer, examining Nick in what seemed like genuine confusion. Too spent and dazed for anger or even fear, Nick was just as bewildered. How could someone who felt so warm have done that to him? Was that really what a cruel person felt like? Had that really been union?

“It’s not going to be that easy,” said Isidore. “Not with this one. Don’t push yourself too hard for his sake.” He’d come up behind Luka, resting a hand on his shoulder. The two of them shared a look, Luka frowning, Isidore impassive.

“I’ll take care of the rest for tonight,” Isidore continued. “You need a break.” Luka closed his eyes, moving his own hand atop Isidore’s, then nodded.

“Just don’t hurt him.”

“I won’t,” said Isidore, his mouth a thin line. Nick followed Luka with his eyes as he walked from the room, unsure whether he wanted him to stay or go. He still didn’t understand…

Isidore dropped to one knee and picked up the two pieces of discarded rope, lashing Nick’s wrists to the bench just as his freedom of movement returned to him, in full. You needed concentration to control someone’s body, and that rule must hold true for Luka, too. A brief jolt of hope—escape!—ran through him, but it was useless. They were still connected with PSY, and Nick’s own PSY was still supressed. It would take at least a day for PSY domination to break off naturally…more than enough time for Luka to come back. And as long as he kept coming back, kept reinforcing his control...

After testing the ropes with several tugs, Isidore stood. He examined Nick, just like Luka had, but with hard certainty instead of confusion.

“Sullen brat,” he muttered. “You’ll learn gratitude soon enough.” He reached forward and Nick flinched, but he only twisted the screw on the side of the ring gag, pulling out the spit-soaked dildo. Nick sucked in a breath through his mouth. His mouth was still forced uncomfortably wide, but at least his airway was clear. Maybe he even was grateful, before he realized Isidore’s pants were open, and he had his cock out, dark and swollen and less than an inch from Nick’s face.

With the last of his energy, Nick twisted his head away, but Isidore grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and held him down, crushing his chin against the bench. Nick was whimpering, begging wordlessly in panic, but Isidore ignored it all, forcing his cock through the ring and filling Nick’s mouth with it.

“Don’t act so surprised,” said Isidore, voice thick with lust. “I told you I’d give you a taste. Now suck it.” Nick was just trying to pull away by instinct, to get away from the awful salty flesh, but in the process he moved up and down along the length of it, his tongue pressing and licking at it as he screamed. Isidore just kept pushing his head forward, choking him until his vision started flashing. Then, the pressure on Nick’s neck suddenly loosened, and he was able to pull free—just in time for Isidore to come. Semen spurted onto his face, some of it flying straight into his open mouth.

Unable to spit with his mouth held open, Nick coughed, swinging his head back and forth when Isidore released him. He couldn’t get rid of the taste, no matter what he did, and he finally gave up, resting his head on the bench and going limp. Isidore moved away, chuckling, but Nick didn’t even try to keep him in sight.

“Tired?” Isidore asked when he returned. He tipped Nick’s chin upwards, tsking when a bit of drool dripped onto his hand. “I bet you are. You should sleep while you have the chance, then.” In his other hand, he held a dark canvas bag. Nick didn’t bother trying to fight. His vision went black as Isidore brought it down on his head and cinched it tight around the neck.

“Good night, Nicholas.” Isidore’s voice was muffled, and so was the sound of his footsteps, but Nick thought he heard him walking away. Then came one final pinch to his thigh, enough of a shock that he jolted and strained at the ropes, wild with panic.

Silence followed, long silence, the only sound Nick's own heart pounding in his ears, until he could finally start to believe he was alone.

He didn’t sleep.


	4. Pancakes

The musty blackness made it impossible for Nick to keep track of time passing, but the steadily increasing aches all over his body gave him a clue. The strain on his knees and shoulders was taking its toll, his jaw felt like it was going to split apart, and his ass fucking hurt, inside and out. At least the pain kept him from falling asleep as he lay there on the bench for what felt like hours on end. Who knew what he’d wake up to if he let himself doze off?

Maybe sleep would give him some relief from his own brain, though. He kept getting the stupidest fucking ideas. Nick wondered where else Luka had stuck that cock, what sort of diseases he could have passed on. No use worrying about it until he could get tested. But the idea of testing just sent him off on an even more unpleasant train of thought. When he was rescued (it would only be a matter of time), he would have to undergo a medical exam. They’d…probably be able to figure out what had happened to him, even if he kept quiet.

This mission was his last one, then. Nick had just proven himself a massive liability. He wasn’t even an official member of the police force, just a civilian operative with a special license. No one would want to work with an operative who’d gotten himself captured and raped. Sure, the Chief would take his side, and might even help hush it all up, but word would get out eventually, and he’d never be able to show his face around the MPD ever again. Nick’s career was sunk before it had even begun.

In the silence and darkness, it was hard not to be overwhelmed by despair. If only he hadn’t let his guard down--

There was a definite creak, and Nick instantly tensed, purging all other thoughts so he could strain his senses to the limit. Luka’s PSY signature was close by, proving the noise hadn’t just been a hallucination created by his sensory-deprived brain, but there was no way to tell if Isidore had come along as well. Was that one set of footsteps, or two? What was that clattering noise?

The bag was pulled from Nick’s head, and he blinked rapidly, blinded by the light from the single bulb that hung from the ceiling. He could make out Luka staring down at him, cocking his head, bird-like. With his hair pulled back into a ponytail, the masculine line of Luka’s jaw was much more obvious. It made an odd contrast with the long-sleeved floral pajamas he was wearing.

“Ah, Isidore,” said Luka, sighing. “He didn’t even take this off?” Luka quickly unbuckled the gag, then wiggled the ring free from Nick’s mouth. For the first time in an eternity, Nick could actually close his mouth, which had grown spongy and dry. He coughed and swallowed again and again, working his jaw, but it wasn’t much use.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. That wasn’t a very comfortable night for you, was it? I have to keep a closer eye on you, if Isidore is going to be so pitiless.” As Luka spoke, he moved down the bench, nearer and nearer to Nick’s exposed ass. Panic surged through Nick once he realized where Luka was going. He was paralyzed with dread, and couldn’t so much as make a sound when he felt hands running down his thighs. But then those hands undid the leather straps holding his knees and ankles to the bench. Nick immediately kicked backwards out of instinct and spite. No luck; nothing but air.

“Settle down, now,” Luka chided. “I’m letting you go. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Not if it just meant being manipulated with PSY, or tied into an even more humiliating position. Luka might appear calm and nonthreatening, but that was what scared Nick so badly; he’d been just as calm throughout the rape. It was impossible to judge his intentions, even when he untied the thick knot binding one of Nick’s wrists.

With his other arm still bound, Nick didn’t have the freedom of movement to throw a good punch. Instead he folded his arm up onto the bench and watched Luka with a wary eye while he undid the last of the bonds on the other wrist. The instant Nick was free again, he twisted away, pushing off of the bench with his knees and holding onto the edge with his hands. He might have tried to run or fight, but his body wasn’t cooperating, and his legs refused to support his weight. Nick wobbled precariously, his hand on the bench the only thing keeping him upright.

Luka was watching him impassively. Nick hastily pulled up his boxers and jeans before he started glaring back, feeling just a little more secure now that he was on his feet, with the bench between them. Nothing could actually keep him safe, but this was a hell of a lot better than being tied up with his bare ass in the air, waiting patiently to get fucked again.

Nick could see the whole of the room now. Isidore was nowhere to be found, which he’d guessed already, but it was still good to know that it hadn’t been a trick. He could also see everything on the side of the room that his two captors had disappeared into whenever they were pulling out something new to torture him with. There were a few closed cabinets, a metal table, and series of hooks on the wall, all empty except for one. The paddle Isidore had used to spank Nick hung there, and just the sight of it was infuriating. But when Nick realized what was sitting on top of the table, he swallowed, unable to look away.

It was an iced pitcher and a glass of water, full to the brim; Luka must have brought it when he came in. Nick didn’t trust his legs or Luka enough to risk trying to grab it, but he watched with avid eye as Luka walked over to it, picked it up, and returned to his spot on the opposite side of the bench.

“No need to be shy. I brought it for you,” said Luka, and he offered the glass to Nick. This time, Nick was far too thirsty to even think of trying to refuse. He grabbed the glass and drank it down in a few gulps, soothing his parched throat. Luka refilled the glass for him two more times before putting the pitcher aside, smiling quietly all the while, and by the time Nick was finished, he felt dizzy, almost drunk.

“…Where is he?” asked Nick, testing both his voice and his boundaries. It hurt to speak, and he sounded odd and raspy, but before he’d had that drink, talking would have been out of the question entirely.

“Hmm?” hummed Luka. He was now resting his elbows on the bench, looking up at Nick with an inquisitive smile.

“You know who I mean. Where’s your…friend?”

“Isidore? He’s at work.” Luka’s expression dimmed. “Usually, he doesn’t leave until nine, but he was called in early. Always some problem or other. They never let him be!” Nick took a few moments to digest this new information. Isidore…had a job? For these two to have a house this nice, the money had to be coming from somewhere, but...it was hard for Nick to reconcile the idea with the cold brute of a man he knew. Both Isidore and Luka seemed to exist only in this nightmare world, entirely separate from the real one where normal people lived and worked. It was fucking disturbing to know that someone like Isidore could disguise his real nature well enough to hold down a job.

Still, it meant there was one less man for Nick to deal with.

“Now, do you think you can walk up the stairs on your own?” Luka asked him, so sweet and concerned, when what he was really asking was whether Nick would obey without PSY. Nick twitched, but gave no answer. He hated being manipulated with PSY, but he hated the thought of cooperating out of his own free will even more. Every time he gave in, he became more vulnerable…yet if he never did, he might break completely.

“You’re so tense, still,” said Luka, shaking his head. “It’s all right. All I want is to get you cleaned up, and get you something to eat—I promise. You can stay down here, if you’d like, but…” He trailed off, letting the promise hang in the air. Getting clean sounded awfully nice. Although Nick tried not to think about it, there was dried come stuck to both his face and his ass. He felt like scrubbing himself raw. And breakfast…Nick couldn’t keep resisting if he was half-starved.

“Excellent,” said Luka, just before Nick nodded. “Bath first, then breakfast. Follow me, please.” Nick begrudgingly released the bench and followed Luka up the stairs, clinging tightly to the railing all the way. The fucking creepy bastard didn’t seem to see anything wrong with responding directly to what Nick was thinking. After their “union,” if you could call it that, his senses were probably even more attuned to every minute change in Nick's emotional state. Escape would be almost impossible if Luka could sense his intentions so clearly…it would have to be when he wasn’t being watched.

Luka took Nick through that same hallway, into the same blue-tiled bathroom he’d woken up in last night. There were no windows, so he had no real way to judge whether a new day had begun. But since Luka had mentioned breakfast, it was probably past dawn…right? In any case, there was the huge inset tub that he remembered, as well as a smaller shower in the corner, walled off with nearly invisible glass. Nick didn’t dare look into the mirror. He didn’t think he’d like what he saw there.

“Do you need to use the toilet?” Luka asked. Nick grit his teeth and nodded shortly. He didn’t know what he expected to happen, but all Luka did was gesture to the toilet like a fucking queen bestowing an enormous privilege, not averting his eyes in the slightest. Nick shuffled over to it, while Luka remained by the door. Since Nick’s back was to him, he wouldn’t really be able to see anything, but it was still fucking humiliating to have an audience for _that_ , too.

 Once Nick was done, Luka wasted no time.

“Take off your clothes,” he said. Nick twitched and grimaced, tugging protectively at his windbreaker.

“I don’t need you in here to take a shower.” Nick didn’t know how Luka would react to being argued with. He still had to try. “You just—you wait outside. Give me five minutes.” His tone was half challenging, half pleading, but Luka just continued to smile at him.

“Take off your clothes, please,” repeated Luka.

“No! I’m not going to do it in front of you!” Nick backed away until he was pressed against the glass shower door. Distance was no help. His hands rose up and then he’d shrugged off his windbreaker, letting it fall to the floor in a heap. Next came his T-shirt, shucked off in a few seconds.

“Stop it!” Nick barked as he undid the button on his jeans. “Please stop, you said…” His hands paused, right where they were, but he couldn’t pull them away from his waist. At any second, they could resume their work. “You said I was just going to have…a bath. That you weren’t going to do anything.”

“I don’t plan to be intimate with you, no,” Luka replied. “You don’t have to worry about that.” He went to the sink and took something out of the cabinet beneath it; a detachable showerhead, which he hooked up to the faucet of the bathtub.

“If you’re not going to fuck me, then get the hell out,” Nick spat at him, though his face burned when he realized what he’d just said.

“All I’m going to do is help you clean up.” Next, Luka took a white washcloth and a towel from the rack on the wall. He sat next to the edge of the tub, folding his legs neatly, and only then did he glance over at Nick with a small frown and a furrowed brow.

“This will be easier if you do as I ask, Nick,” said Luka softly. He lifted an arm, the washcloth dangling from his hand like a white flag. “Take off the rest of your clothes and come sit down in the tub. You wash, I’ll rinse. But if you won’t cooperate, I’ll have to do everything for you.” No matter how sweetly phrased, that was a threat if Nick had ever heard one. Either way, he would be stripped naked. But if he did what Luka wanted, he could keep at least a little dignity, and he wouldn’t have to endure being scrubbed down by someone else’s hands. Nick could imagine what it would feel like while Luka took every opportunity to paw at him, groping his cock, squeezing his ass…

Sick with self-loathing, Nick closed his eyes and felt for the zipper of his jeans. If he had to look at himself, he wouldn’t be able to go through with it. Once his jeans were around his ankles, he remembered that he was still wearing his sneakers, and he crouched low to pull them off, as well as his socks. When he was hunched over, shielding himself just a little from Luka’s unwavering gaze, it was easier to stick his fingers in the waistband of his boxers and jerk them down, all at once, before he had time to think about what he was doing.

Nick stepped free of the tangle of clothes, still leaning forward, his eyes open just wide enough to navigate to the tub and lower himself into it. Now that he was naked, the tub almost seemed like a sanctuary. With his back pressed into one of the corners and his legs drawn tightly together, he was just a tiny bit less exposed. Which didn’t count for much. The hard edge of the tub digging into his back and sides made him hyper-aware of his own bare skin.

“There’s no reason for you to be ashamed,” Luka murmured. He moistened the washcloth with some spray from the showerhead, then gave it to Nick. Nick couldn’t stand to look at Luka directly, but kept a close eye on his movements out of the corner of his eye. “It’s only your body. You were born with it.”

“I don’t see you getting naked,” Nick muttered. When Luka stiffened, he instantly regretted it; he didn’t want to give him any more ideas. But the man just shrugged his shoulders and said,

“Maybe I’m not so nice to look at as you.” Whatever that meant, Nick didn’t have time to wonder about it. Luka was pointing the showerhead at him.

Nick was bracing himself for a barrage of water, but the spray was soft and neither too hot nor too cold. Luka kept it away from Nick’s face and crotch. His aching shoulders and knees appreciated the warmth, even if being sprayed like this made him feel more like a dog than a human being. Doing his very best to ignore the existence of the man who happened to be controlling the showerhead, Nick soaped up the washcloth and began wiping off his face, carefully avoiding the painful abrasions on his neck.

“See, it’s okay,” whispered Luka, and a shiver passed through Nick that wasn’t entirely fear and disgust. “Relax. There’s plenty of room for you to stretch out. This feels good, doesn’t it?”

It was impossible for Nick not to uncoil, just a little. Luka was holding the showerhead just over his head. The warmth melted into his scalp and trailed down his back in rivulets. Soaping up his hands, Nick gave his hair a quick wash once he was done with his arms and chest. Maybe it was okay for him to enjoy this a little bit. Warmth was warmth and water was water. So what if Luka was staring? Let him look. Washing the sweat and come off couldn’t erase what these men had done to him, but Nick pretended that it could.

Eventually, though, Nick had to face the inevitable. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He wasn’t about to put on a show for Luka, so he was quick and matter-of-fact, scrubbing off some of the tacky dried lube on his lower back and ass cheeks before pulling the cloth away again. It was irrational, but he held onto the hope that Luka somehow wouldn’t notice what he was doing, or at least wouldn’t comment. He could be such a fucking idiot.

“Keep going,” said Luka quietly. “You can clean yourself up better than that.”

“No! It fucking hurts, okay?” Nick curled up again defensively. It wasn’t even a lie. Even though it hadn’t really hurt when Luka fucked him, there was a lingering soreness on the inside as well as the outside. There was…damage, and Nick suspected that if it hadn’t been for the influence of Luka’s PSY, the rape itself would have been pretty painful.

“It hurts?” Luka seemed surprised to hear it. “That’s no good. Get up on your knees. I’ll do it for you.”

“Go to hell.” Nick’s voice quavered at the end. Luka just looked at him with something that was almost like pity, waiting. When Nick remained where he was, shivering with fear of what he knew was coming, Luka sighed and shook his head.

The strangled noise Nick made as he shifted onto his knees against his will was almost inhuman. His fist clenched tightly around the washcloth in his hand, but then he let it drop, turning and reaching outward so that his upper body lay on the bathroom floor. He was bent over the side of the tub, his legs spread apart, exposing everything. There was a soft splash as Luka stepped delicately into the tub.

Nick still had his voice, but didn’t even try to yell or beg. His chest was heaving with gasps and sobs and the occasional broken whine. It didn’t matter what Luka said he was going to do, all Nick could do was remember the fingers prodding and stretching, the cock slowly inching its way inside…being ripped out of his own body, and looking down at his own pathetic form as he was raped.

Luka rested one hand on Nick’s lower back, making soft shushing noises. The pain there was gradually draining away, like the water in the tub, but he was hyperaware of the contact against his numb, tingling skin. The other hand there between his buttocks, the very lightest touch with the tip of a finger, the very slightest penetration…followed by warmth and moisture, caresses from the cloth.

“What exactly is it that you’re so afraid of?” Luka murmured. Nick didn’t really know himself. Pain was pain was pain, but this was so much worse than any kind of pain. He’d already been humiliated, again and again, but this… If he’d been free he would have bashed his head against the tiles, just to make it stop, but all he could do was wish that Luka had taken over his mouth as well as everything else, so he wouldn’t have to listen to his own whimpers, which continued even when the scrubbing stopped.

“There now, that wasn’t so very terrible.” Luka stepped out of the tub again, and gave Nick a final spray-down with the showerhead while he knelt there, trembling. He hardly felt the spray, and by the time he realized that his “bath” was over, he had already stepped out of the tub. Luka wrapped him in a towel, embracing him from behind and whispering soothing nonsense into his ear.

Nick wanted to die, or at least be sick. Just those few seconds of contact had reminded him of everything he tried so hard to deny: that he was completely under another’s control. It didn’t matter if Luka chose to be gentle. It was still impossible for Nick to stay sane while he was this helpless. A sense of shock overcame him, smothering his mind like the soft towel enveloping his body.

Once Nick was more or less dry, Luka hung the towel up again, and maneuvered Nick out of the bathroom. He didn’t stop to collect Nick’s clothes. Nick made an inarticulate noise. He wanted to plead to at least be allowed underwear; walking around with his cock and balls hanging out was too much, even as numb and exhausted as he was. But he was moving too fast, walking briskly down the hall beside Luka with a gait nothing like his own.

The hallway was windowless, but the end of it opened into a broad room surrounded by enormous square windows—white shades drawn down over all of them, illuminated with morning light, but letting him see nothing. An overhead light came on as they entered. There was glass topped table surrounded by four black, sharply squared chairs on one side of the room, while the other half was blocked off by gleaming black counters and appliances.

Nick felt a small stirring of hope. His first thought on recognizing a kitchen wasn’t food, but _knives_. He quickly scanned the room, but there were no convenient blocks or racks. The countertops were all spotlessly clean, and he noticed small numberpads installed on many of the cabinets. Any knives were probably behind electronic locks. The security in this kitchen went beyond childproofing into prisonerproofing, and that brief hope was dead.

“Sit and I’ll make breakfast for you,” said Luka. Nick sat, straight-backed and uncomfortable, his ass as good as glued to the cold, uncushioned seat, and Luka slipped into the kitchen area, opening the fridge and surveying the contents. “Is there anything you want? I’m not…I’m not a chef, but…I can make eggs. Or pancakes. Do you like pancakes, Nick?”

Nick didn’t respond. Here he was, naked and held in Luka’s thrall, and he wanted to know if Nick liked pancakes. Even Luka seemed to realize the absurdity of the question, because he didn’t ask again. Nick watched as Luka retrieved ingredients and laid them out on the counter: flour,  a whole carton of eggs, milk, blueberries in a little patterned bowl. There was also a countertop skillet, just like one Nick had, except that it plugged into the wall, and didn’t even have a socket for directing PSY energy.

They must have an insane electricity bill. Since Isidore was a Void…every device, appliance, and light he wanted to use would have to rely entirely on it. Maybe Nick would use that to his advantage somehow. With Luka dominating him, he’d been reduced to a level barely above a Void, but this house would be a lot more likely than average to have stuff like a battery-powered flashlight…or even a pistol. Isidore seemed like the type stupid enough to own a gun despite the fact that taking it from him would be like taking candy from a baby for anyone with functioning PSY.

Mixing together a huge bowl of batter with one hand, Luka took a remote from one of the kitchen drawers, and when he pressed it, a section of wall slid away. Nick was startled, but behind it was only a TV, which flared to life. Some sort of morning talk show was on. A circle of men and women discussing the latest sports scandal, yammering incessantly over each other, as if nothing could possibly be more important.

Nick didn’t know what he had expected. The world was going on without him. There might be a brief bulletin on the Mirapolis news, but missing nineteen year old males didn’t generally warrant much coverage, and the police wouldn’t want to reveal the specifics of what Nick was to the media. His identity as a Class S needed to be kept secret if he was going to continue being of use. Of course, he was already pretty much worthless, but the MPD didn’t know that yet. They would put their full resources into searching for him, and a federal agent would be called to track him soon: one of the elite Class S operatives that Nick had hoped to become one day. Now, though…

Nick stared down at the glass table. He could see his own pale, skinny-looking legs through it. The pancake batter was sizzling on the griddle, and the talk show personalities continued to argue. Time kept moving forward, minute by minute, and yet he was still here.

Glancing over at Luka, he saw that he was scooping two large pancakes off the griddle and onto a plate. They were oval-shaped and uneven around the edges, thick and studded with blueberries. Using a dull table knife, Luka cut the pancakes into many small pieces, and set the plate onto the table in front of Nick, along with a fork and a glass of orange juice.

“I’ll give you some more when you finish those,” said Luka. He returned to the griddle, giving Nick a quick pat on the head as he passed.

Before being untied, Nick had been ravenous, and would have happily tucked into just about anything he put in front of him. Now, though, his stomach was roiling, and even if he’d wanted to eat, he doubted he would keep it down. He picked up the fork and turned it over in his hand. Just how good were Luka’s reflexes?

“You aren’t the sort of person who could do that,” said Luka, sitting down in the chair beside Nick with several pancakes of his own, coated in syrup. Nick stared at him in confusion, but Luka was busy chewing after cramming about half a pancake in his mouth. For a guy who looked so delicate, he wasn’t much of a delicate eater. But then, PSY took a great deal of energy, and Luka was using his constantly to keep Nick under control.

“You could hurt me, if you stabbed me with that, in the right place, with enough force,” Luka continued after swallowing. “But you would never do it.”

“You really think I won’t?” Nick asked quietly.

“I know that you won’t,” said Luka, his voice gentle and matter-of-fact. “Now eat your breakfast. Your pancakes will get cold.”

Nick looked down at the fork again, thought about just how hard he’d have to drive the dull prongs into soft flesh. There would be no time for hesitation. Nick had faced down and subdued hardened murderers before, but with his PSY, not with his own hands.

While he was considering it, Luka finished both of his pancakes and went back to the griddle to fry more. There was still plenty of batter left, and Nick, who usually ate about two pots of pasta after a busy night at work, didn’t doubt that Luka could keep going for a while. Nick had used his PSY last night, too, and needed to eat, but watching Luka down pancake after pancake just made him feel even more disgusted.

“You do understand,” Luka said after finishing his second plate, “I don’t like it when I have to force you to do things. Why won’t you eat? You’ll get sick.” He spoke slowly, as if Nick were a picky child, incapable of understanding that he would starve.

“I’m not hungry,” Nick muttered, not meeting his eyes.

“You don’t like pancakes?”

“They look like shit. I bet they taste like shit, too.”

“That’s not a nice thing to say.” The shift in tone of voice was subtle, but Nick caught it, and his shoulders tensed up. Luka’s face had gone blank, making Nick wonder if he'd pissed him off enough that he’d drop the chirrupy, cheerful act and start smacking him around, or worse.  Luka reached out his hand…and drew Nick’s plate over to his place, before starting to eat the now cold chunks of pancake with a disconsolate expression.

“Isidore has tried to teach me to cook,” said Luka when he was done, his head lowered over the plate. “But I’m just not any good. Hopeless is what he said. I thought I was getting better, but...” He trailed off into gloomy silence. Luka collected the plates, as well as Nick’s untouched glass of orange juice, and loaded them into a dishwasher in the kitchen area after rinsing them in the sink. Everything went back into its proper place, until the kitchen was immaculate again.

“Is there really nothing you want to eat?” Luka asked. “There’s a lot of fruit. Jam, too, if you want toast.” The look he was giving Nick through his lashes seemed uncertain, even shy. As if Nick had really hurt his feelings by not eating his fucking pancakes. Maybe he was even crazier than Nick had thought.

“Hey,” said Nick, an idea occurring to him. “How about a deal. I’ll eat anything you want me to, as long as you give me back my clothes.” Trying to bargain with Luka in the bathroom hadn’t worked out in his favor, but Luka seemed more vulnerable now. His head was lowered, one hand twisting the hem of his pajama shirt.

“Look, you can’t expect me to eat breakfast with you at the table like your fucking houseguest when I’m not wearing any clothes,” continued Nick. “That doesn’t make any sense.” He thought he was starting to figure Luka out. Luka wanted harmony, an illusion of normalcy. He wanted Nick to look and act happy, and he wasn't willing to use his PSY to force it. While Nick wasn’t about to play along, he might be able to use those desires to his advantage.

“You’re right,” said Luka quietly, and a little shudder passed through his body. “It doesn’t…make any sense. Sitting at the table…” He continued to mutter in a language Nick didn’t understand…but his tone still wasn’t exactly agreeable, and Nick didn’t like it at all. Still talking to himself, Luka went into the cabinets again and poured out a bowl of cereal and milk.

“Get me my clothes first,” Nick demanded.

“No,” said Luka. He brought over the bowl, but Nick couldn’t help but notice there was no spoon in it. “Get on the floor.”

“What?” Nick blinked at him and leaned back in his chair. He could control his body again, and realized he still had the fork in his fist, but he was paralyzed by Luka’s stare, which was full of icy fury.

“You’re right,” said Luka coldly. “You aren’t a guest. You’re a pet. A misbehaving pet. You’ll eat your breakfast off the floor.”


	5. Careless

“I am not your fucking pet!”  Nick leapt from his chair, ready to bolt, but Luka was between him and the door, eyes seething in his eerily calm face.

“Of course you are. Isidore gave you to me,” said Luka, as if that settled things. “Now. Down.” The fork dropped from Nick's hands and clanged against the floor, painfully loud, just before his knees buckled violently and he folded into a crouch. It didn’t hurt, but the suddenness, the _viciousness_ of the movements were terrifying. It was like he was a doll being tossed around by a furious child.

“I’m a human being!” Nick gasped, as futile as it was.

“What else would you be?” Luka set the bowl of cereal right in front of Nick’s nose, where he was forced to look straight down at it. It was just milk and cornflakes, but Nick felt his stomach roil with disgust.

“Eat,” said Luka.

“Go to hell!” Nick was too panicked to watch what came out of his mouth, let alone obey. When he was cornered, his first instinct was to fight, damn all the consequences—and Luka’s tone promised plenty of them. What the hell was he going to do? What was he capable of?

“I won’t tell you again. Eat. I’m going to lose my patience.”

“Because right now you’re so fucking cheerful—uch!” Nick’s face plunged into the bowl without warning. He choked and sputtered around a clumsy mouthful of cereal, nearly breathing in the milk. Luka pulled Nick’s head back slightly so he could chew, the milk dripping from his chin. Then he was dropped back in again. It was just as fucking horrible as when Isidore doused him in the sink—worse, since this went on longer, and he wasn’t even allowed to close his eyes.

“You’re making a mess,” said Luka coolly. As if _Luka_ wasn’t the one making his head bob up and down, forcing food down his throat while his body and mind both screamed and fought, to no avail.

Luka made him to eat every mouthful of cereal, and then made him to lick up the last bit of milk at the bottom of the bowl. By then, Nick was so miserable that the extra bit of humiliation barely registered. He was just glad it was over.

“It would have been so much easier to eat your pancakes at the table, don’t you think?” Luka asked. All Nick could think about was how much he wanted to throw up. Luka let him sit back and bury his face in his arms, curled up around his stomach, but he couldn’t throw up, and the nausea gradually subsided into a dull ache. He heard movement from Luka, but didn’t raise his head.

“Clean yourself up.” There was a soft sound. A cloth had been dropped at his feet. Nick listened as Luka removing the bowl and mopping up the milk that had splashed all over the floor. Eventually, he slowly reached for the cloth, and scrubbed roughly at his face. Even once he’d cleaned up all the milk, Nick continued to scrub, until his eyes started to sting. Before he knew it, he was pressing against the towel with two fists and sniffling into it, his whole body wracked with uncontrollable trembling.

“There’s no reason for you to cry.”

“Just leave me the fuck alone,” Nick snarled into the cloth. Luka could stop him from crying if he wanted to, but did nothing about it. The sadistic fuck was probably enjoying it. Slowly lowering the towel, Nick stole a glance up at Luka, and saw…nothing. The anger was gone, but there was no pleasure or satisfaction to be found in Luka’s mask-like face. His PSY signature was so steady and even that it was almost unnatural.

“I didn’t particularly want to do that to you, Nick,” said Luka quietly. “Isidore enjoys punishments. He enjoys causing pain. I don’t.”

“Fucking liar,” said Nick, but his voice was shaky and weak, and the words were empty. He didn’t have any real defiance left.

“I don’t understand what the problem is,” said Luka, growing absent. “This is an adjustment, I know, but you’re so unhappy. So very willfully unhappy. I’m not sure I can endure it for much longer.”

“Must be hard. I’m really…crying for you.” Nick’s words were undermined by the real tears dripping down his cheeks. He didn’t really know why they kept coming, and he couldn’t will them to stop, no matter how pathetic he must look. He was sobbing like a little kid when he hadn’t even been touched.

Maybe he wasn’t so brave after all. Or maybe he was in mourning for the little piece of his humanity that had shriveled and died while he lapped up milk from a bowl on the floor.

When Luka left the kitchen, Nick crawled after him, propelled along at a scrambling pace. His head was lowered, and he couldn’t see much of where he was going. There was just the transition from hard tile to the plush, pale carpet. Nick kept moving forward until his head brushed up against the wall in an empty corner.

“You could have sat here with me, if you were more cooperative,” Luka announced. “But today, I’m putting you where you’re out of the way.” Nick tried to crane his neck around to get a look at him, and found that he could. This was the room where Isidore had shown him to Luka last night, and Luka was sitting on that same sofa, a slim paperback book in his hand. The shades were drawn on the windows in here as well, and while Luka had settled near a lamp, Nick’s corner was dim and shadowy.

“As long as you’re still and quiet, I won’t have to use my power. Be a good boy.” Luka drew his legs up onto the sofa and flicked open his book with one hand, seeming to pay Nick no further mind. PSY domination required constant focus and concentration—it was no wonder if Luka needed a break. But that didn’t mean this was a good time for Nick to try to creep off. Luka was directly across from him, ready to reassert his control at the slightest stray intention.

Nick turned back towards the wall and let out a deep breath before he settled down onto his elbows, trying to make himself as comfortable as possible. Kneeling there with his naked backside facing out made his skin crawl, but it was better than the alternative. Luka made it sound like it was a punishment to be left alone, the crazy bastard. How could someone with such powerful PSY be so oblivious to Nick’s hatred of him? Did he not understand, or did he simply not care as much as he pretended to?

At first, Nick remained wary, constantly on the alert, but he heard nothing from Luka except the occasional rustle of a turning page. Nick relaxed, ever so slightly, the rawness of his fear and misery abating enough that he could think straight. He was ready, though, in case Luka changed his mind and wanted to play with him some more.

Playing was what Luka was doing, after all. He’d called Nick a pet, but what he’d really meant was a toy, an accessory to some deluded domestic fantasy. Nick had figured that out earlier…he just hadn’t taken into account how deep Luka’s fantasies ran. Toys don’t have a mind of their own. They don’t try to negotiate how they’re played with. Luka didn’t seem to care how much Nick swore or resisted…but when he’d actually tried to take control of what was going on, offering his cooperation in exchange for his clothes, Luka had grown furious.

At least Nick knew a little bit more now about what Luka was capable of if provoked. When Luka had first glared at him with that bizarre, sudden rage, Nick had been expecting excruciating pain, or even worse. What had actually happened…wasn’t easy to take, but at least Nick had been left with his mind in one piece. He’d survived, at any rate. He would keep surviving, no matter what they did to him. It would take far, far worse than this to break his will completely.

He was going to be strong, He was going to live, and escape, and forget that either of these two fuckers ever existed while they rotted in prison. Nick closed his eyes and repeated these mantras of reassurances to himself, over and over and over again. If he believed that he was strong, he would become strong. If he let himself believe that he was weak, there would be no hope for him at all.

If he’d been anywhere close to his right mind, he probably would have sneered at that kind of platitude. A positive attitude meant next to nothing in the real world, where everything was decided by cash and connections and sometimes sheer chance—like that genetic roll of the dice that had granted him Class S PSY, out of a million others. Was any of this real, though? Or was it nothing but a screwed up nightmare?

Maybe it was a nightmare. Now that he thought about it, he could feel his own pillow beneath his head and the covers of his own bed wrapped around him. He could hear the warbling of the pigeons that liked to perch on the wire outside his bedroom window, the rumble of rush hour traffic below, the faint barking of some hyperactive mutt. He could even sense the fluttering PSY signature of the nervous Class B girl who lived in the apartment next to his, a particularly vivid spark amid the indistinct glow of the dozens of tenants. Normally, Nick found the PSY signatures of strangers an irritating distraction, but now he reached out for them, searching for warmth, comfort, _humanity_. But suddenly, their human light dissolved into nothing, like wisps of smoke, and Nick was alone in darkness.

He opened his eyes with a gasp and jolted upright, utterly disoriented. He was on the floor of a dark room; there _had_ been a pillow beneath his head, but it was just a cushion from the couch. He was naked, cold, and so hungry it felt like his stomach was being clawed at from the inside. Goodbye to a pleasant dream, and hello to his living nightmare.

The lamp was still on, but there was no sunlight filtering through the translucent windowshades. Was it evening already? He’d been asleep for an awfully long time. Either Luka has used PSY to keep him from waking, or his exhaustion after that sleepless night tied to the bench had caught up with him. But more importantly…where had Luka gone?

Nick had woken up so confused and bleary that he hadn’t realized it. The only PSY signature he could pick up were the faint traces that lingered anywhere a PSY has been. He twisted around, just to make sure. No one on the sofa. The room was empty…and the door was half-open.

Nick hesitated for only a second. Sure, it might be a trap. It was hard to believe Luka would actually leave him alone, but Nick didn’t have much to lose. He stood and rushed to one of the windows, forcibly wrenching the stiff cloth shade to the side and creating a small gap. Although it was growing dark, there was still enough light for him to see by. The first thing to do was get some sense of where he was.

“Damn it,” Nick muttered, clenching his fists tight. Outside was a broad, well-trimmed lawn, a scattering of flowering bushes around a square pond…and, off in the distance, a concrete wall tall enough to block out a good portion of the sky, with menacing looking spikes jutting out from the top. Even if he managed to get out of the house itself, he’d have to go over or under or through that wall if he was going to run.

But it wasn’t a total loss. Nick could just barely make out the tip of a spire reaching above the wall. If his hunch was right, that spire was the same as the one that topped one of the tallest skyscrapers in downtown Mirapolis. He hadn’t been taken far. In fact, considering the size of the yard he was looking at…he was probably being held in one of the ritzy suburbs on the outskirts of the city. Although it was good information to have, Nick felt a pang of frustration. Why hadn’t help come yet? He was so fucking close!

There was no time to dwell on it. Nick turned away from the window and went to the doorway. He peered out with much caution, but there was no one lying in wait for him, and he didn’t sense Luka anywhere nearby, so he slipped out into the hall. Right or left; he had to choose, and fast. Since he thought he remembered the kitchen being to his right, Nick sidled to the left, sticking close to the walls and doing his best to muffle his footsteps. He wanted nothing more than to bolt, but running blind would be a mistake.

Nick was in luck. He followed the hall to the very end, turned into a sharp corner, and ended up in a small room with storage cabinets, a row of empty metal coat hooks, and a set of glass double doors leading to the outdoors. They weren’t locked, and no alarm shrilled when he twisted the handles. He was out of the house in a flash.

Nick had almost forgotten he was naked, but the bite of the cold air was a sharp reminder. Still, he was out, breathing in fresh air. That fucking wall was the only thing that stood between him and freedom.  There had to be a gate or an exit of some kind, though he doubted it would be hanging open for him. Nick stepped out onto the grass and started to circle around the house, which was flat and pointed and ugly from the outside, and not nearly as big as it had seemed. He stuck close to it, and ducked down every time he passed a window, though he knew there was no concealing his PSY from Luka if he started looking.

Before he could locate the gate, a structure near the wall caught Nick’s eye. It looked like some sort of storage shed, with a sharply sloped roof, and some sort of chain-link fence attachment. Whatever it was, if he could climb up onto the roof, he just might have a chance of grabbing onto the very top of the wall. There were the spikes to deal with, and the long drop on the other side, but as long as he didn’t kill himself, any amount of injury would be worth it to get away.

As he drew closer, Nick realized what exactly the fence was for, and stopped short. There was a dog door lead into the shed. He didn’t like dogs, and dogs didn’t like him. Smaller ones, he could tolerate, beagles and spaniels and ankle-nipping terriers. Big ones were trouble; he still had the scars a neighbor’s Lab had given him when he was ten, and then there’d been the great disaster four years later, which he wasn’t even going to think about at a time like this. He hoped the kennel was just for some yappy little mutt, though from the size of the dog door, he guessed otherwise. Of course, even if it was just a yappy little mutt, he was still screwed if it started barking.

Nick was torn. Could he risk it? It wasn’t like he could see the dog. Maybe the kennel was empty. Or maybe the dog was just asleep inside the shed, and would raise hell once he climbed up on the roof. There was a small window set high on the wall of the shed, and he crept up to it, standing on the tips of his toes to peer inside. No use. It was pitch black in there. What was he going to do?

A deep growl, roiling with menace, brought an end to his dilemma. It wasn’t coming from inside the shed, or from the empty dog run. It was coming from directly behind him. Very, very slowly, Nick turned around. His first impression was of something very similar to a bristling Alaskan timberwolf. The dog was dark, hairy, and had distinctly undog-like yellow eyes, which were fixed on him.

The dog moved forward, one step at a time, continuing to growl. Nick pressed himself back into the side of the shed. If he bolted, it would probably chase after him, but if he stayed like this, it might lunge at any moment. He tensed up, ready to run—and then spotted the _second_ dog, just like the first, loping across the lawn towards him. No way he could outrun them both.

“Go on! Go away!” Nick yelled in desperation, waving a fist at them. The growling dog replied with a booming bark, and that set both of them off, snarling and barking and snapping at the air. The noise was deafening, the flashing teeth terrifying, and there was nowhere for him to run. Nick thought there was no possible way for this to get any worse. Then Isidore walked around the corner of the house.

“ _Quiet!_ ” Isidore’s shout somehow managed to pierce the barking, and the two dogs were silent, except for the occasional soft whine or growl. But they continued to stare at Nick with their teeth bared, and didn’t back away in the slightest. Nick waited for Isidore to call them off, but he didn’t seem to have any intention of doing that. He approached at a leisurely pace, carrying a plastic bucket in one hand. Once he reached the kennel, he placed the bucket on the ground and leaned back against the fence, surveying Nick and the dogs with clear amusement.

“Put your arms up and out,” he told Nick. “Slowly.” Nick silently did as he was told, his arms quivering as he held them aloft.

“Drop to your knees.” Nick did so, wincing at the impact. The dogs didn’t break their gaze, yet the growling stopped, and bristling fur on the nape of their necks smoothed out.

“Now lie down on your stomach. Face down.” Nick hesitated. He couldn’t bring himself to lie flat and hide his face when there were two angry dogs only inches away. They could jump on top of him, pin him down, and then…

“Do it, brat,” Isidore snapped. “They aren’t going to bite you.” His sharp tone of voice brought forth an uneasy growl from one of the dogs. Bracing himself and closing his eyes, Nick went to the ground, clutching at the grass. To his horror, he could hear the dogs coming even _closer_. They breathed heavily above him, sniffing and rumbling. A single clawed paw pressed down painfully on his shoulder, and he bit his lip to keep himself from making noise. Then a cold nose brushed the nape of his neck, and a whimper escaped him, despite himself.

Isidore whistled. Both nose and paw vanished, and he heard a metallic creak; the gate of the wire fence swinging open. After a few moments, he dared lift his head, and watched Isidore pouring out the bucket into a food trough, while the dogs sat side by side, their tails wagging furiously. He patted them both on the head, then left them within the fence, fastening the gate behind him.

“Okay!” Isidore called, and only then did the dogs rush to the trough, scarfing down their food as fast as they could. So the dogs weren’t even allowed to eat without Isidore's express permission? That, Nick thought dully, was the definition of a fucking control freak.

“Now get up.” Isidore punctuated the order by nudging the tip of his shoe against Nick’s ribs. Nick forced himself upright, although his legs felt like jelly. Isidore immediately seized him by the hair and dragged him in close.

“Now,” Isidore said quietly. “Let me be clear, Nicholas. I never actually told you that you weren’t allowed outside. So if someone let you wander around completely unsupervised, well, how are you supposed to know where you can and can’t go?” His words were dripping with sarcasm. Nick hadn’t quite recovered enough to be making any retorts, so he was quiet, trying to avoid Isidore’s piercing black eyes.

“So you’re in luck. I’m not going to punish you.” Isidore tilted Nick’s chin up with one hand, and patted his cheek lightly. “ _But_ ,” he added, fingers tightening around Nick’s jaw. “It’s a rule now. If you leave that house without permission again, I'll beat you bloody, and then you’ll spend your next few nights locked up in that kennel with Regal and Rose. Understood?” Nick nodded shakily, and without further ado, Isidore started marching him back towards the house, keeping a firm hand on the back of his neck. There was no point in resisiting. Maybe Isidore expected Nick to be relieved or even grateful that he wasn’t going to be punished, but it meant nothing to Nick. He’d had his first (maybe only) chance to get away, and he’d failed.

Luka met them in the same little entryway Nick had escaped from. He had changed out of his pajamas and into a silky blue shirt, which he plucked at nervously.

“Oh,” Luka said, his shoulders hunched. “Oh. Oh no. He got out.”

“Yes,” said Isidore. “He got out.”

“He’s sly. I told you that. This one is very sly.”

“Quite an escape artist. Did he squirm out of any bindings? Pick any locks? Because it seems to me that he just walked out the back door.”

“Yes, well,” said Luka. “He was asleep. You saw him yourself. He was fast asleep.” There was a faint flush to his cheeks, but Isidore didn’t relent.

“Now, what do sleeping people generally do, if you leave them long enough?”

“They…they wake up,” said Luka quietly, the blush spreading across his entire face.

“Exactly. Which means he needs to be locked up or restrained. Even if he’s sleeping.”

“But…he’s not going to run away. There’s the wall, and there’s your dogs…and he doesn’t have any shoes! I'm sorry. Please don’t be angry. I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“Luka,” said Isidore sternly. He took his hand from Nick’s neck, and Nick watched in morbid fascination. It wasn’t like Luka had any reason to be afraid of Isidore, but he was practically cringing. Would Isidore hit him? Would Luka let him do it? Apparently not. Isidore curled an arm around Luka’s shoulder, and Luka burrowed his face against his chest.

“I’m not angry at you,” murmured Isidore. “It’s all right. But we have to minimize the risk. If he gets away, it’s over for me. We would have to flee the country. I could even be sent to prison.”

“No, no,” said Luka, pushing away from Isidore’s chest and looking up into his face fiercely. “Don’t even say it. I won’t let that happen. I’ll break you out.”

“I don’t doubt you would, but I’d like to stay out to begin with.” Isidore gave a short laugh, the first one Nick had heard from him with even a hint of real humor, and gave Luka a peck on the forehead. He seemed to be in a good mood tonight. Relatively. It might have something to do with the whiskey Nick could smell on his breath.

Isidore glanced over at Nick then, still smiling. His eyes travelled up and down Nick’s naked body appraisingly, wanting Nick to know he was being appraised. Luka was looking at Nick as well, but he wasn't smiling.

“It won’t be long before dinner,” said Isidore. Even the word made Nick’s stomach twist hopefully, but Isidore wasn’t talking to him. “I’ll get him ready, so we can have some fun with him afterwards. How about the bed tonight?”

“Fine,” said Luka with a sigh. Nick was momentarily stunned. Getting him ready. Having fun with him. He was going to get fucked again, and even though he wasn’t tied down, he knew he was helpless. The glass doors were right behind him. Two seconds to turn, two seconds to turn the handle, plenty of time for either of them to stop him.

“Don’t even think about it, brat,” said Isidore, seizing Nick by the upper arm. Isidore’s other arm closed around Nick’s waist, a sick joke of an embrace. “Come quietly, and I’ll go easy on you. Though you seem to like it pretty rough, don’t you?” Isidore cupped one of his sore ass cheeks, then pinched him, hard.

Needless to say, Nick didn’t go quietly. Isidore had to drag him bodily down the hall as he struggled, spat, and screamed every curse word that he knew. Luka followed, but offered no assistance. Nick was as desperate as he’d ever been; he knew what was coming this time. But he was hungry, exhausted, and had nowhere to go, while Isidore was still as strong and pitiless as iron. Nick was thrown to the floor in a new room, one with a metal-framed bed and a dresser and not much else.

Nick scrambled blindly away from where he’d been thrown, and Isidore let him back himself into a corner. No escape. All Nick could do was watch with wide, wet eyes as Isidore calmly opened the dresser, pulling out many lengths of red rope.

“What do you think?” Isidore asked Luka, who stood in the doorway, impassive. “Should I put him on his back, or his front?”

“Do as you like,” said Luka. Isidore glanced at him in faint surprise, but then shrugged and picked up the length of rope. Nick pressed himself as far back in his corner as he could and hissed out a breath, ready to fight back with his hands and his teeth, if nothing else.

“Very fierce,” said Isidore. “Put out your hands, brat, and my offer still stands. I’ll go easy on you.”

“I’m going to kill you,” gasped Nick. He hadn’t really intended to say anything, but it still came out. It felt right to say, because it was true. One day, somehow, he’d get free, and get his PSY back, and Isidore would die screaming. Both of them would die screaming, crying for the mercy they wouldn’t give him.

Isidore lunged for him, and Nick met him half-way, going for his neck. Isidore batted his scrambling hands away, seized one wrist and then the other and bringing them together with wrenching force. Nick snapped at him, but his teeth only caught the cloth of Isidore’s shirt. It was a hopeless fight, and he knew it, but he refused to make it easy, and it took Isidore over ten tries to finally bind his wrists together.

With a frustrated grunt, Isidore tossed Nick onto the bed. The wind was knocked out of him, and Isidore took advantage of that brief moment to fasten the dangling ends of the rope to one of the central bars of the headboard. Nick was caught, and however much he squirmed, twisted, and tugged, the rope wouldn’t give. He was stuck on his back, able to roll sideways, but not onto his stomach.

Most of Nick’s energy was exhausted. He tried to kick, he really did, but he couldn’t stop Isidore from tying his feet to the corners of the backboard. His legs were obscenely spread, while his arms and shoulders and stomach were stretched out painfully. He whined, squirming ceaselessly, looking for slack in the rope that wasn’t there. Isidore looked down at his work, red-faced with exertion.

“Some help,” he panted, “would have been nice.”

“You didn’t ask,” replied Luka. “I thought you liked it when they fight like that.”

“Well, I’m not quite as young as I used to be,” said Isidore. “Keep his mouth shut. He’s discovered his teeth.” Isidore took one more thing out of the dresser. It was a roll of duct tape. He circled around the bed, catching Nick’s chin and sealing his mouth with a double layer of tape. Still, Nick continued to whimper from low in his throat, the sound barely audible.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” asked Isidore, bringing his face in close. “Don’t worry, brat. It’ll only be an hour or so before we’re back.” An hour? There was no way he could stand it; his legs and shoulders were already burning. But, when they came back, they would…Nick sniffled. He felt a familiar prickle at his eyes, but to his own shock, no tears came. He couldn’t even bring himself to cry anymore. Isidore ruffled his hair, then turned back to Luka.

“I think I’ll fuck him tonight,” said Isidore conversationally. “You don’t mind if I go first, do you? He’ll be tired, but you like them nice and pliant anyway.”

“Of course,” said Luka. “Do whatever you want.” There was a pause.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Isidore asked sharply. He strode over to Luka, who lowered his head and folded his arms.

“I don’t want him tonight, is what it means. So do whatever you want.”

“Now look, I’m sorry if you feel scolded, but you _were_ careless. Don’t sulk.”

“I’m not sulking. It isn’t anything to do with that,” said Luka. “It’s just one night. It won’t make any difference.” Another pause. It was hard for Nick to get a good look at either of their expressions, bound like he was, but the tension in the air made him shiver. If the two of them really had it out, he would probably suffer for it, too.

“You don’t like him?” asked Isidore dangerously.

“I don’t know.”

“What, is he not pretty enough for you?”

“He’s beautiful. That's not the problem. He’s just so angry. Hateful, even.”

“They all are, at first,” said Isidore with a snort. “You can’t expect him to be pleased.”

“He’s not like the others. The others were grateful to be treated kindly. He just gets more hateful. He’s disobedient, too.”

“You were the one going on last night about how much training he needs! Christ, do you know how much trouble I went to, getting him for you? Do you know how hard it will be to get a replacement?” Isidore’s voice was growing irate, but Luka didn’t cower like he had before. He just stood perfectly still, unaffected.

“You wanted him for yourself, not for me. Don’t bother trying to lie about it.”

“He’s the best option there is,” said Isidore. Something like desperation had replaced his anger. “Give him a chance. It’s been a day. You don’t have to be madly in love with him to stick your cock in him. You don’t have to feel anything about him. He’s a means to an end.”

“Of course I can do it,” said Luka. “I just won’t. Am I not allowed to decide anymore? Should I just offer myself on the street, if who it is doesn’t matter?”

“That’s not what I meant,” hissed Isidore.

“Then let me decide. I’ll know by tomorrow if he’ll do or not.” Luka huffed and left the room without a glance backward. Isidore remained, staring after him, then suddenly turning to Nick. Nick cringed into the mattress and pulled at his bound feet, terrified by the promise in his glare.

“In an hour,” said Isidore carefully. “I’m going to be back, and we’re going to have a long discussion about your attitude. Look forward to it, Nicholas.”

With that, he left as well.


	6. Physical

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very sorry for the delay! I should have time to edit the next two chapters tomorrow to finish up posting the existing chapters.

The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. After a while, Nick’s bound wrists and feet grew numb (which wasn’t exactly a good thing). But even then, the slightest movements triggered spasms in the straining muscles of his legs, shoulders, and back.

He didn’t want to close his eyes, not for too long, but whichever way he turned his head, he was disgusted. To his right was the dresser, where the roll of duct tape and short coils of rope rested. To his left was the door, which made his heart jerk in his chest—any moment now, any moment, Isidore would return for their promised “talk.” He had to stare straight up at the ceiling, but tracing the cracks there was no distraction from his spread legs and exposed crotch.

This was torture. Being left like this was torture, both physical and mental, and even as Nick thought to himself that he couldn’t endure it any longer, he had no choice but to endure it. He could rub his wrists against the rope, stripping away the skin. He could scream into the tape, even though there was no one to listen. He could hold his breath until his chest burned and colorful spots danced in front of his eyes. None of those things ended the ordeal.

By the time it finally came, the slow creak of the opening door was almost welcome. Nick just hoped that whatever Isidore had planned, he wouldn’t be conscious for most of it.

Isidore didn’t speak as he approached the bed, making a semi-circle and observing Nick from several angles. He held a small glass in his hand, half-full of ice and something colorless, which he sipped from without any particularly expression. Eventually, though, Isidore sat on the edge of the bed, his back pressing against Nick’s hip, and then twisted, resting his hand on Nick’s stomach.

Isidore’s fingers sunk into the vulnerable flesh, threatening to move lower, but stopping just short of Nick’s limp, fear-shrunken cock. Nick twitched a little, made a short noise of discomfort from deep in his throat, but the day’s degradations had worn him down, and he was too exhausted to struggle much. He just watched Isidore with sickened resignation. Isidore swirled his drink with one hand. The ice clinked against the glass, too loud in the otherwise silent room.

Then Isidore took his hand off of Nick’s stomach, and stuck into the glass. He fished out a large ice cube and held it between his thumb and forefinger. For a single moment, he paused, letting Nick get a good look at it, before he lowered it onto Nick’s chest and pressed it against one of Nick’s nipples.

A surge of cold pierced Nick’s chest; he gasped, shuddered, and arched his back, but there was no relief until Isidore lifted the ice cube away and dropped it back into the glass. But then he took the same nipple between forefinger and his thumb. At first his touch was light, a little bite of pain, but then he gave it a brutal twist, digging in with his blunt nails. Nick gave a broken gasp of pain. He couldn't help but struggle against his bonds, his involuntary writhing only made it so much worse. By the time Isidore released him, Nick’s cheeks were wet with pained tears.

“Just wanted to make sure you were awake,” said Isidore. “If you aren’t paying attention, talking to you is a waste of my time.” Isidore’s fingers caught his chin, tilting it back, at a painful angle. As Nick blinked away the moisture, Isidore’s face came into focus again. Although his lips were curled in a smile, his eyes were full of promise.

“Let me know that you’re listening, brat. I want to hear you.” Not obeying didn’t even seem like an option. Nick groaned wordlessly, and Isidore seemed satisfied, loosening the grip on Nick’s chin somewhat.

“Very good. Now, let’s have the talk that I promised you. I wonder if there are some things I haven’t made clear enough.” Isidore’s lip curled even further, his smile starting to resemble a dog’s snarl. Some talk. Even without the gag, Nick was still in no state to say anything coherent, although he might have been able to spit in his face.

“Personally, I can tolerate disrespect,” Isidore continued. “If it gives you satisfaction to glare at me, insult me, strike at me, and generally behave like a brat…go right ahead.” Nick’s brow furrowed. His mind was slow and cloudy, but he still knew that the bruises all over his body were more than enough proof that Isidore did not, in fact, tolerate any kind of resistance. How delusional could he get?

“Now what’s that look for?” Isidore asked, and then he laughed, with real humor. “Oh, I didn’t mean to say you’ll get away with it. You’ll be disciplined quite thoroughly. What I meant was that I’m not going to hold your attitude against you.” He released his hold on Nick’s chin, and patted his cheek lightly, before his hands started wandering lower again. Nick instinctively closed his eyes, but that earned him another twist to his nipple until he opened them again.

“However,” Isidore said, his voice going even softer. He brought his face in close, his lips brushing Nick’s ear. “What goes on between the two of us is irrelevant. If you were my personal project, things might be very different, but you’re my gift to Luka. Making me happy will spare you a lot of pain, but from now on, making Luka happy is the only reason for your existence.”

A full-body shudder passed through Nick, and he recoiled as much as he was able to. Isidore’s voice was as gentle Nick had ever heard it, almost cajoling. The words were utterly fucking insane.

“You think it’s not so, but I’ve made it so. Eventually, you’ll be unable to think of anything other than pleasing us.” Where the hell did that kind of confidence come from? He tried to tell himself that it was just the raving of a sadistic lunatic, but there was something in Isidore’s calm certainty that made Nick shiver.

It was almost as if he was speaking from experience.

“But in the meantime, Luka isn’t so terribly difficult to get along with,” Isidore continued. “The only thing he wants is a little appreciation. If you can’t manage that, you’ll at least keep your mouth in check, or I’ll muzzle you—permanently.” Isidore’s finger traced the tape on Nick’s mouth, but then he abruptly stood, looming over Nick from above.

Nick briefly met Isidore’s gaze with his own glare; the sheer ridiculousness of this demand incited a small spark of rebellion in him. He was supposed to feel appreciation towards the man who’d raped him?

“He’s done nothing to hurt you,” Isidore said, shaking his head, and Nick flinched. Ironically enough, it felt like Isidore had just read his mind. “The exact opposite. He’s been working hard to take away your pain and make you as comfortable as he can. This morning, he freed you from your bonds, cleaned you up, even cooked for you—and you repaid him with nothing but crude disrespect.”

 _He raped me! He invaded my mind! He forced me to eat off the floor, like a dog! And I’m the crude one?_ Even Nick’s thoughts were growing somewhat hysterical. Again, Isidore shook his head.

“I can tell that you still don’t understand the meaning of gratitude,” he said. He turned his back to the bed.  “A brat like you will never learn simply by being told. So I’m going to illustrate for you what happens when Luka isn’t around to plead your case.” Nick watched him walk to the dresser, dread pooling in the base of his stomach. The quiet click of Isidore setting down his glass was like a signal. It was going to start now, in earnest—and a beating was probably the least of what was in store for him.

Isidore took something from one of the drawers and slipped it into his pants pocket, too quickly for Nick to see what it was. The rest he displayed openly as he returned to stand at the end of the bed, right between Nick’s legs: a tube of lubricant, and a pair of latex gloves. He pulled on the gloves, snapping them tight, then squirted a bit of lube onto both his palms and rubbed them together. Unable to take any more, Nick closed his eyes, even knowing it would probably get him slapped or pinched yet again.

Nick felt the slick, rubbery sensation of a gloved hand closing around the base of his cock and went rigid, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists in anticipation of the squeeze. But Isidore’s grip didn’t tighten. Instead he began to pump his hand up and down the shaft, the smooth motion sending a shudder of stimulation through Nick’s body. Nick opened his eyes again, lifting his head to stare at Isidore with both disgust and astonishment.

“Don’t misunderstand, now,” Isidore said, smiling thinly. As he spoke, his hand continued to move steadily, as if it were an automaton, entirely independent of the rest of him. “This isn’t a punishment. It must be easy for you to get confused, considering how much you enjoyed your spanking last night. For a little slut like you, I might have to save the paddle to use as a reward.” Nick hadn’t thought it was possible to be any more humiliated, but his face still began to burn. He couldn’t deny it, not out loud because of his sealed mouth, not inside his head because it was true. He’d grown hard, against his will, just from the friction of rutting against the bench. And now, for all his fear, hatred, and utter humiliation, his cock was reacting beneath Isidore’s fingers.

“No, what’s going to happen is this. I’m going to fuck you, Nicholas, because I’ve been looking forward to it for most of today. It’s what you’re for. Your real punishment can wait until after I’ve been satisfied.”

Nick closed his eyes again, but it was impossible to ignore Isidore’s low, insidious voice, or the heat building in his lower body. It didn’t seem like it could get any worse, but then he felt Isidore cupping his balls with his other hand. He hated making noise, knowing the pleasure Isidore had to be getting from it despite his disaffected expression, but a moan escaped them as Isidore gently, tortuously rolled them around in their sac.

He hadn’t…expected this. He’d thought that Isidore would be direct and brutal, holding him down and plunging into him without preamble. This was…this was…even though Isidore had mocked him by saying it wasn’t a punishment, he would take a beating any day.

“I did think getting you hard would be more of a challenge than this,” said Isidore. His pace quickened, ever so slightly. “For all your complaints, you’re awfully excitable, brat. You want more, don’t you?”

Nick shook his head weakly.

“What’s that, now? Maybe you’re bored? You can’t wait to have something inside you. I can tell.”

Nick screamed out a muffled denial, then screamed again when Isidore smacked his ass, hard, and followed it up with a bruising pinch to his inner thigh. “Patience, brat,” said Isidore with mock sternness. “I have to get you good and ready first.” He removed his hand from Nick’s cock, examining it critically. Nick stared at it along with him, feeling a bizarre surge of hatred for the stupid, swollen piece of flesh that kept on betraying him. It continued to throb, even through the pain, and Nick had to swallow a dry sob.

He didn’t want this. Of course he’d didn’t want this. He wasn’t even fucking gay, of course he wasn’t, he’d never once thought about a man doing these things to him. It was all physical. Isidore knew what he was doing, the right buttons to push to provoke Nick’s body into reacting the exact way he wanted, all for the sake of some sort of sick mind game.

But before, he’d been able to blame it all on Luka. Luka had been toying with his mind as well as his body. So what if he’d gotten hard then. So what if he’d come? It didn’t actually mean anything. Now, though, Luka was gone, and yet he _still_ \--

Isidore withdrew a small contraption of black leather straps and bright studs from his pocket, commanding all of Nick’s attention. Was it another gag? No. Isidore’s hands worked quickly, grasping Nick’s cock and threading it through the leather. He snapped a band around the base, uncomfortably tight, but there was still another loop, and that one went encircled Nick’s balls. Before Nick could even think to struggle, his sac had been crammed through the tiny harness, forcing it downward and squeezing it tight.

All pride and restraint forgotten for a few seconds, Nick squirmed and twisted desperately with the very last of his strength, but there was no relief. The touch of Isidore’s fingers had gone from almost pleasurable to unbearable in an instant, wrenching a series of involuntary whimpers from the back of his throat.

“Enough,” said Isidore sharply. “That’s just a little something to make sure you last until I’m actually inside you. I can always make it tighter and give you something to really complain about.” But it was an idle threat, and he removed his hand. After the initial shock of the unforgiving pressure around his cock and balls wore off, the stimulation grew--manageable. Nick was able to hold himself still. Moving made it feel so much worse, in the same way it aggravated the pain from his bindings.

By then, though, Isidore was probing between his ass cheeks with slick fingers. However much he wanted to keep his eyes closed, Nick had to look, and was paralyzed by the sight of it.

Unlike Luka, Isidore didn’t waste much time. His forcefully shoved two of his thick fingers in at once, past the second knuckle, then pumped them in and out with the same efficiency he’d used to bring Nick to hardness. Nick’s stomach and thighs twitched and jerked obscenely along with the motion. It was bad enough for the first few moments, as Isidore kept a steady and predictable pace—but then he began to twist and scissor his fingers. The first few times, Nick was caught by surprise, gasping and tensing painfully tight, wracked with tremors of pain and misery. Still, though, Nick managed to hold onto some small scrap of rational thought.

There really was no escape. To survive, he had to keep some kind of control. At least since it was Isidore, his mind was still entirely his.

Nick began to take every thrust as a challenge. If he was able to endure it without making a single sound, it was a victory. If he could keep his breathing as even as possible, three seconds in and three seconds out, it was another victory. If he could repeat to himself, with every breath, that he was feeling nothing but pain, he could eventually convince himself that it was true.

Isidore kept his free hand busy as well, loosening the knots that bound Nick’s feet to the short bedposts until they slipped free, one at a time. Nick should have kicked at him, but they were too numb, and simply enduring was all that he could manage at the moment. His legs fell senselessly to the bed, where circulation returned in painful spasms. Better to go imp, anyway. His struggles were just another form of entertainment for this bastard.

“And now you’re trying the stoic act, huh, brat?” Isidore’s voice had gained a harsh edge. “You might as well give it up for now. You won’t be able to keep it up once my cock’s in you, I can promise you that much.”  Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his breathing was ever so slightly uneven—now that Nick’s legs were free, his free hand had dipped lower, below Nick’s line of sight.

“But after a few rounds, you’ll probably figure it out,” Isidore continued.  “It’ll make things easier…for a little while, at least. First you’ll learn to be still and quiet, for your own sake. How to relax, just so it’s a little less painful. How to get me off as quick as you can, so it’s all over sooner. That’s how it starts.”

Nick wished he had some way to plug up his ears. Isidore’s voice slipped past all his defenses, sending shivers of fear and disgust through him, disrupting his thoughts and making it impossible to keep counting the seconds properly.

“Yes, I’m going to get you all trained up, Nicholas. But the fun doesn’t stop there. You see, just when it all becomes routine, and you start settling into things, forgetting what it feels like to be really be afraid of me…” Isidore paused, with his fingers still as deep inside Nick as they could possibly go. “I’m going to do things to you that will have you screaming and bucking like a wild animal all over again. That’s when your real training starts.” He jerked his hand away sharply, and Nick hissed at the sickening sensation of both gloved fingers sliding free.

“I told you before…I don’t care what you do. Whether you keep trying to fight this, and learn that much faster how pointless it is…or whether you force yourself to endure it until you can’t anymore, and draw things out… It’s just a matter of time either way.”

Nick felt the bed sink down as Isidore clambered up onto it, gathering up Nick’s right leg and lifting it up over his shoulders. He was still dressed, but his belt was undone and his dark, swollen cock poked out from his open fly. His black eyes were like chips of stone, and he wasn’t smiling anymore.

Isidore stretched out his body, trapping Nick between his arms. At some point, he had removed one of his gloves, and he cupped Nick’s face with his bare hand.

“Yes, we’re going to have a very long time to get to know each other, Nicholas,” said Isidore softly. “But your first time with me—that only comes once. I hope you’re going remember it.” Then he tore the tape from Nick’s lips.

Nick screamed, of course, the sound sharp and strange after spending such a long time gagged. After only a second, his mouth was plugged up again by Isidore’s mouth. Isidore was kissing him with such crushing force that it was barely a kiss at all. The smell and taste of liquor was almost as overwhelming, burning Nick’s lips where the skin had been stripped away by the tape. That was what made him want to pull away, but Isidore had an iron grip on the back of his head, holding him firmly in place.

Nick had been able to endure the fingers on his cock and in his ass, but this was too much. When Isidore finally allowed his head to fall back onto the pillow, Nick was in a frenzy, jerking his arms against the ropes, every curse word he knew garbling together into a senseless mess.

Isidore ignored him, clutching at Nick’s leg, which was still hooked awkwardly over his shoulder, and shifting him so that he was very nearly on his side. That was all the warning he got before Isidore forced his way inside, in every sense of the word.

The pain was so deep and so overpowering that Nick was struck speechless. His mouth gaped and his eyes seeped with tears, but he was being split in two, cleanly down the middle. Bright lights bloomed in front of his eyes, auras of pure energy, like phantom PSY signatures—but he was being fucked by a Void.

“God,” Isidore mumured. “It’s been so damn long…”

“Get off,” was all that Nick could manage to say, his voice hollow and breathless. If only he could somehow overcome Luka’s domination. Then it wouldn’t matter how strong or heavy Isidore was—Nick could force him off within seconds, and pulp the bastard's brain while he was at it.

But PSY itself was meaningless in the face of so many purely physical sensations, all of which Nick was helpless to resist—he couldn’t stop his body being torn open—couldn’t escape from Isidore’s hands roving across his stomach and chest—couldn’t keep from gasping when the tender tip of his cock brushing against the fabric of Isidore’s shirt—couldn’t block out the sound of flesh roiling against flesh as Isidore drove him down into the bed with slow, almost leisurely thrusts, letting up only long enough to let him take a few shallow breaths before he was smothered again.

It seemed impossible, but Nick had stayed hard throughout it all, and his cock was straining against the leather that bound him. Isidore’s every movement inside him was agony. He was stretched and skewered beyond his limits. But every few seconds, as if at random, Nick’s cock would still twinge, and his balls were beginning to tighten.

_No. No. No._

Isidore’s hand behind his back drew the two of them close again. His tongue and lips teased at Nick’s shoulders and the hollow of his throat, a strangely soft assault compared to the relentless pounding of his ass. Nick bit down on his own lip and dug his nails sharply into his palms, but the pressure continued to mount in his cock.

“Stop it,” Nick pleaded again. “You—you sick fucking son of a bitch. If you don’t stop--” He wasn’t sure who or what he was talking to. Isidore didn’t even seem to hear him.

Nick came suddenly with a yelping cry of despair, spattering the front of Isidore’s shirt. Finally, he had relief from pressure, even if the shame made bile rise in his throat. Even that small relief was short-lived. Nick was newly tender inside, the prodding of Isidore’s cock even more excruciating, but Isidore’s thrusts didn’t slow in the slightest. He was utterly merciless.

Through squinted, teary eyes, Nick looked up at the man who continued to fuck him. Although he was flushed and breathing hard, and his eyes glittered with intent, without a PSY signature, Isidore’s hardness was the only proof Nick had that he was even getting anything out of the exertion. He was like a machine, or even a monster. Well, maybe that was what a Void was. An empty _thing_ that just happened to wear a human skin.

Nick had bolstered himself, throughout it all, with the thought that it would eventually end. Now, it felt as if he was going to be held down and used as a hole for the rest of his life—just as Isidore had promised.

But it did end.

Isidore kissed him again, sighing into his mouth, and then tensed up as he came inside of Nick. That was all it was, before he pulled out a few seconds later, untangling their limbs like it was an afterthought. A purely physical climax, with no chance of union.

After Luka had finished with him, Nick had felt oddly empty. It was nothing compared to this. He was gaping wide open, wet with lube or come or blood, the pain lingering almost like something was still stuck inside him. Isidore stood on faintly shaking legs, and only then did Nick finally allow himself to believe that it was over.

Nick shivered and shivered, as if with cold. He was sore all over, and the tight leather strap still fixed around his balls protested the movement, but he slowly, carefully drew his legs together, then curled up as best he could manage with his arms still fixed above his head.

Isidore was still there, and still watching him with a small, satisfied-looking smile, but Nick was no longer even afraid of what he might do next. He was utterly numb, inside and out.

“I wish you could see yourself right now,” Isidore said. He rested his hand atop Nick’s head and ruffled his hair, but Nick didn’t so much as flinch. “You make a very nice picture.” After patting Nick’s head a few more times, he turned his attention to the ropes around Nick’s wrists. There was an unexpected nip of fresh pain—he’d forgotten, after all his other hurts, that he’d rubbed the skin raw trying to get away.

Isidore took each of Nick’s hands in his own, guiding them slowly down to the side of his head, gently separating the fingers and stroking along the palms, then tracing the edges of the matching scrapes. He leaned down, kissing wrist one and then the other. Still, Nick hardly even twitched, throughout all of it.

“Look what you’ve done to yourself,” Isidore said, clicking his tongue. “And for no good reason.” Isidore released Nick’s hands, then caught his chin yet again, forcing Nick to look straight up at him. Nick noticed, with a kind of dull confusion, that Isidore’s expression had softened somewhat. Nick might say his smile was fond, if he didn’t already know the kind of soulless bastard he was looking at.

“You’re truly pitiful, aren’t you?” Isidore said. “No endurance at all…nothing that can’t be fixed with training, but your punishment is going to be such a bore.” That one word, punishment, was enough to give Nick a jolt of unease, even in his utterly spent state. He’d forgotten that there was still more to come. Isidore frowned and gave him another absent pat to the head, rubbing it in circles, as if to comfort him.

“But I don’t have much of a choice,” said Isidore. “Sorry, Nicholas. It’s not as if you haven’t earned this in full.” He shrugged his shoulders, then hooked one arm around Nick’s neck and another around his waist. Nick was bodily dragged from the bed and then unceremoniously dumped to the floor. Even if Nick hadn’t been caught by surprise, his legs wouldn’t have supported him. He collapsed onto his hands and knees.

Some tattered, mindless survival instinct must have remained in Nick, because he found himself trying to drag himself away from his attacker, driven by nothing except pure panic. He didn’t make it far. Isidore brought his foot down on one of Nick’s hands, with just enough force to pin it down and send pain shooting up his arm.

“Where exactly did you think you were going?” Isidore asked, snorting. He pulled off his unbuckled belt, folded it on itself, and struck it lightly against his leg. “And here I thought you had no fight left in you. I was even feeling sorry for you. Good to see you can still stand to benefit from a taste of the belt.” He bore down harder on Nick’s pinned hand to punctuate the point, then lifted his foot. Nick lowered his head, hiding his face behind his other arm and waiting for the blows to start.

“Let’s see, now,” Isidore said, apparently in no hurry. “I owe you twenty strokes with the belt for your disrespect this morning…and five extra for calling me a son of a bitch. That’s more than fair, don’t you think?

“Of course, you’re going to have to show me that you’re willing to be a good boy, if you want to get off that easily.” Nick head Isidore crouch in front of him, and cowered further in on himself. “First, I want you to look me in the eyes and apologize for your disrespect towards Luka. Can you do that for me?”

Even earlier today, Nick would have spat in his face. Now, though…he was so very tired. He wasn’t so much frightened of being beaten as he wanted desperately to be left alone. He was going to be beaten regardless, but giving in would get it over with faster.

It wasn’t as if there was anything he could do now that was much worse than coming all over his rapist.

“…I’m sorry,” Nick rasped. He raised his head, even intending to meet Isidore’s eyes, but now that he had remembered it, he couldn’t look away from the off-white stain across the front of the man’s shirt. Undeniable proof of his shame.

“Hmm,” Isidore said, narrowing his eyes. “I suppose I’ll accept it.” He followed Nick’s eyes downward and stared at his front, lip curling in distaste. “While you’re at it, why don’t you apologize for what you did to my shirt?”

Nick’s lips were on the verge of forming the words, automatic and meaningless. _I’m sorry_. But they got stuck in his throat.

He had to say sorry?

He had to say sorry for dirtying Isidore’s shirt?

He had to say sorry for dirtying Isidore’s shirt, while Isidore fucked him raw?

He’d been wrong. There was always something worse.

“Nicholas, I’m waiting,” said Isidore. “ _I’m sorry, sir_. It’s not that hard.”

“Go to hell,” Nick whispered, and then buried his head in his arms again.

There was a pause. Then, the soft sound of the folded belt striking Isidore’s thigh.

“There’s the brat I know,” Isidore said quietly, a smile in his voice.


	7. Freedom

Nick’s throat was burning.

It wasn’t just his throat. His back, his ass, his stomach—he throbbed all over, and there was no relief no matter how much he squirmed. His thirst was still the worst of all. He tried to ask for water, but he couldn’t make any sound. At least, he couldn’t hear anything. Maybe he’d just gone deaf.

No, he wasn’t deaf. There were people hovering above his bedside, whispering. The doctors and nurses discussing his condition in hushed voices, speaking a language he couldn’t even understand. He twisted his neck over his shoulder, trying to catch sight of them, but they didn’t have faces. They did have hands, though, slim women’s hands, all of them, with long scarlet plastic nails. This was supposed to be a hospital. Why wouldn’t any of them bring him a glass of fucking water, then?

His parents were there too, but they were both hiding, just out of sight. His mom didn’t want him to know she was crying. She only cried at night, when she thought he was asleep. There was probably a whole chapter on crying in the manual: Never cry in front of him. Never show him any weakness. Once he figures out you’re just a human being, it’s all over.

Nick suddenly needed to get up—he had something important that he had to tell his mom. The nurses pushed him back down again. He fought them, of course, mouthing obscenities, but the more he struggled, the stronger they got. Even once he gave up and went limp, they showed no mercy. He couldn’t breathe, he was pinned, helpless—suddenly it was a man’s thick hands that held him down, wrenching his legs viciously apart--

Nick was hit with a wave of wrenching nausea. A bit of bile came up, then slipped back down his throat, threatening to choke him. As he wretched desperately, the man holding him down dissipated. Just a memory. Not real.

It had sure smelled real. Maybe that was just because his face was currently buried in a mattress that stunk of sweat and come.

Nick tried to roll onto his back so he could at least breathe some fresher air, but he couldn’t manage it; his hands were stuck above his head, and he heard a clinking sound when he tried to tug them free. This wasn’t a hospital.  A hospital wouldn’t handcuff him to the bed, naked except for the sheet. This was the bed where Isidore had...where...

An animal-like groan escaping through Nick’s clenched teeth. He was still dazed, unable to distinguish entirely between dream, memory, and reality. It was like there was one copy of him in the moment, lying on the bed, and another copy stuck in the past, still being fucked into the mattress. Yet another copy had flown off to a different dimension entirely. That part of him was still half-convinced that he was deathly ill in a hospital bed, being watched over by faceless, clawed beings.

Nick had to get out of here, and fast, before he lost his mind for real. But for now, he was too weak and disoriented to do much other than lie there and shudder. There was no other noise at all, other than the sound of his own harsh, frightened breathing. After a while, he was finally able to accept that he was alone, shut up all the hysterical voices in his head, and calm down just a little.

Although he was as awake now as he was going to get, Nick didn’t remember being handcuffed in the slightest. He remembered being dragged to the floor and hit with the belt…but Isidore had quickly grown bored with that, and started using his fists and feet as well. The last thing he did remember was a kick to the stomach that had made him see stars. He must have passed out from the pain. He could only wish that had happened even sooner.

From how sore he was, Nick had to wonder if Isidore had kept going even once his punching bag was out cold. It didn't seem that likely, though. From what Nick knew of him, Isidore wasn’t the type to waste his time beating someone who wouldn’t be able to feel it. No telling how long he’d been out, or when Isidore would be back, or what he’d do then. Nick had never given him the apology he wanted…as far as he remembered.

Nick wished he could trust himself to stay strong. The thought of another beating didn't scare him as much as it probably should have, but he’d do almost anything to get that glass of water he’d been dreaming about. Maybe Luka would bring him some, like he had the first day.

No, no, no. Maybe this was going to be the day he was rescued. The day he escaped. He could have all the water he wanted then.

While he was fantasizing, maybe his mom would kick down the door of this shithole, pull a snub-nosed revolver out of her purse, blow Isidore’s brains out, and hand him an iced Coke.

Nick didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him. His mom was the absolute last thing he wanted to think about, but his subconcious apparently disagreed. He’d seen her in the dream…heard her, rather. Now there was no stopping himself, even if it wasn’t going to lead to anything other than wallowing in misery.

No matter what happened to him, he wished his family didn't have to be involved. He’d already caused them their fair share of grief. But the MPD had no reason to spare their feelings, and would have called them at the twenty-four hour mark, if not earlier. A waste of time for everyone involved. He hadn’t even really talked to his parents in months. It wasn’t like he hated them or blamed them for how things had turned out, but when every conversation eventually turned into a fight, he’d stopped trying.

These were the people who'd panicked every time he'd so much as broken his curfew as a kid; just imagining how they must be feeling made him sick to his stomach. And Molly…they would try to keep her in the dark, but she was a smart kid. She’d figure it out. What had they even talked about, the last time they'd spoken? What sort of memory would she be left with if she never saw him again? An awkward, ten-minute phone call where they both danced around what was really important?

What an idiot he was. He’d thought he was invulnerable. It had never once occurred to him that there would never be more time to make things right.

Nick shook his head viciously from side to side. That was more than enough of that. He had to get his priorities straight. Once he got out of this alive, he could worry about his family. Until then, he had to focus on escape, and nothing else.

As a distraction, he did his best to assess his own injuries from the previous night. It wasn't quite as bad as he'd thought. Sure, he wasn’t exactly in top shape, but if he ignored his aching ass, which he intended to, he was mostly just bruised up. He didn’t think anything was broken, even the hand that Isidore had stomped on. Someone had bandaged his scraped wrists, protecting them a little from harsh edge of the cuffs. How very fucking thoughtful.

It was exhaustion that wore on Nick, more than anything else, cutting through to the bone and slowing down both his mind and his body. He hadn’t really slept since he’d been taken. He’d had nothing to eat since that bowl of cereal, hours and hours ago. Even fear itself must have taken its toll. Even if he hadn’t been bound by the cuffs, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to walk away, or even stand for more than a few seconds.

Nick gave a shallow sigh, because a deep one would have hurt his ribs. Then he stiffened. He’d heard the faint sound of voices. At first he thought he was imagining things again, but the voices grew louder at a steady rate, and were accompanied by two sets of footsteps and one PSY signature.

Isidore’s voice was cold and low, and Nick could only make out certain words. Luka, on the other hand, was completely indecipherable. Neither sounded happy.

“…hardly asking for…”

“…you think…if it wasn’t necessary…”

“…can’t afford the slightest deviation from routine...”

“That’s would be all it takes!” Isidore's voice suddenly broke into a shout. “A single day, a single _second_ of carelessness, and it’s over!”

The room flooded with light from the hall as Isidore burst inside, radiating fury. After only a few long strides, he was at the bed. He jerked the sheet down mercilessly, exposing Nick’s back and ass. With no time to prepare, Nick just buried his face in the mattress, squeezed his eyes shut, and braced himself for the blows to start raining down.

There was no immediate pain, Nick was hardly reassured. He turned his head abd carefully cracked his eyes open, all too aware of his own pathetic shivering. Isidore simply stood there, staring down at him, his face taut and pale…but despite his obvious anger, there was a smirk playing about his lips as well. Probably enjoying the way Nick had cowered. Bastard.

Luka entered the room at a more sedate pace, his arms folded and his head lowered. He approached the bed as well, and studied Nick with only the minutest change in expression. His eyelashes fluttered and his delicate brow furrowed—it could have meant anything.

Side by side like this, the two men were a complete contrast. One was dark and one pale, one furious and one cool, one dressed in a pitch black suit and the other in those same ridiculous floral pajamas.

Both of them were fucking impossible to read.

Luka, though he had PSY, might be even more dangerous than the Void. His PSY signature projected a false image of calm, but for all Nick knew, he was seething underneath that porcelain mask of a face.

“…Don’t yell at me,” Luka said at last, very quietly.

“Stop blithering about things you don’t understand, and I won’t have to,” replied Isidore. Neither of them looked at each other.

“You really think he’ll try to run away?” asked Luka. “In this state?”

“Oh, he’s not going anywhere. And I doubt you’ll be hearing nearly as much backtalk from him today. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

“I didn’t ask you to beat him.”

“I do aim to go above and beyond.” Isidore let out a deep sigh. “But that’s beside the point. He needs to be looked after regardless.” He seemed about to turn away from the bedside, but then his hand whipped out, a quick and casual motion. He seized Nick’s chin, tilting his head this way and that painfully.

“Give him some water,” said Isidore. “You can do that much, Luka.”

“…Okay,” said Luka. His head was still lowered.

“Take him to the bathroom once or twice, too. I won’t have him lying in his own piss, even if he deserves it. It’s disgusting.”

“Okay,” Luka repeated, in the exact same voice. Isidore snorted in clear disbelief, releasing Nick’s chin so that he could check his watch. He left the room without another word, to Nick’s immense relief, but his face still burned a little with humiliation at how they’d spoken above him, like he was just an animal.

Luka stood there, still as a statue. The instant Isidore had gone, a petulant little frown marred his face.

Nick couldn't claim to understand much about his captors, but one thing seemed pretty clear: Luka was growing less and less enamored with his new toy by the second. That might be a good thing for Nick. If the man disliked him that much, it could mean both less “attention” and less supervision.

Hypothetically, at least. In reality, Nick didn’t like the cold gleam in Luka’s eyes one bit.

Even if Isidore was a complete lunatic, he at least seemed committed to keeping Nick alive for his own purposes. Did Luka feel the same way? No matter how innocent he pretended to be, a man who didn’t bat a single pretty eyelash at kidnapping and rape might have equally few qualms about destroying Nick’s mind or cutting his throat just to save the trouble of getting a glass of water.

Luka shook his head after a time, almost like he’d come to a decision, then turned on his heels and left. As soon as he was gone, Nick sank back into the mattress, shuddering, but also glad. He doubted Luka would return for a long while, no matter what he’d said.

Nick closed his eyes again, deciding to conserve his strength for a while before he tried to test the cuffs in earnest. Then he heard brisk footsteps from the hall. To his bewilderment, Luka re-entered the room with a glass of ice water in hand.

Did Isidore’s command carry that much weight?

Luka was still frowning, but now he was looking at the handcuffs that held Nick’s arms awkwardly up above his head. He tapped the chain that ran between the cuffs with a finger. Both cuffs immediately clicked open, and Luka pulled them off and tossed them to the floor carelessly.

“Can you sit up on your own?” Luka asked quietly. Nick didn’t actually know, but he nodded anyway and struggled to prop himself up against the metal headboard. As long as Luka was holding the water out of his reach, he would be as cooperative as he had to be.

Luka passed the glass to him without another word. It was cold, and so slick with moisture that it almost slipped from between Nick’s trembling hands. His throat just hurt more with every gulp, but he still drained the glass dry and was still licking the rim when Luka took it back.

While he was still drinking, the water had occupied all of his limited mental resources. A slender hand on his stomach brought his attention back to Luka in full. Nick was so bruised and tender there that even the slightest touch made him hiss with discomfort and bite down on his lip.

So much for being left alone.

“Poor thing,” Luka murmured. “It hurts, doesn’t it?” His voice grew softer and softer, trailing off like a wisp of smoke at the end of every short sentence. “Lie back. It’ll be all right. I’ll help.”

Nick had no defiant remarks left in him, and was given no choice as to whether he obeyed. He laid on his back again, face up this time, trying to control his breathing while Luka slowly dragged his fingers from Nick’s stomach up to his chest, where he rested them above Nick’s quickening heart. Needless to say, he didn't buy this sudden change of heart.

Although the pressure on Nick’s chest remained perfectly steady, Luka began to lean over him. Soon Luka’s startlingly blue eyes were only inches from his own.

“Easy, now,” Luka murmured. “If you aren’t a good boy, I won’t be able to help.”

The pain was being leeched out of Nick, as smoothly and steadily as water being sucked up through a straw. Luka’s PSY was as incredible as ever—almost like he had a healing touch. Just an illusion, though. PSY couldn’t do a thing about bruises and soreness. Luka was only manipulating his brain into ignoring the pain signals.

Nick knew he should be struggling mentally, even if he was paralyzed physically. There was no telling what would come next. But now that the pain was gone, his exhaustion was all that was all that was left. Still, he squinted up at Luka, determined to keep watching him.

There was tenderness in Luka’s eyes. He was smiling now.

It couldn’t possibly be real. Nick knew that. Yet he was having a hard time remembering why he’d been so scared, or why it was so important to keep his eyes open at all. He closed them, provoking a laugh from Luka.

“That’s it. Go back to sleep. You’ll feel better afterwards. I’ll make sure you don’t have any more nightmares, okay? That way…”

If Luka finished his sentence, Nick never heard it. He was out in an instant, like the flick of a switch.

Luka had been telling the truth about one thing, at least. There were no dreams at all.

 

_Bastard. Pervert. Cunning little piece of shit._

Those were some of Nick’s first thoughts when he awoke for the second time. He snapped back to alertness just as suddenly as he’d lost consciousness, to find arms latched tightly around his midsection. Someone—Luka—was breathing against the back of his neck. He wanted to yell and kick to man away, but he used all his willpower to force himself to stay still. First, he had to take stock of the situation.

Luka had been screwing with his mind again, that much was obvious. But at the end of it all, he’d just put Nick to sleep. Why bother with the mind games? Had he...done anything while Nick was unconscious, other than crawl into bed with him?

At least Nick wasn’t in any more pain than he had been before. In fact, he felt quite a bit more energetic and clear-headed. As long as he wasn’t hurt, maybe it was best not to think about what could have been done with his unconscious body.

Even now, Luka was just lying there, still dressed in his pajamas, his PSY signature barely even there at all. Dormant. Wait a second, dormant?

Nick’s heart leapt. Carefully, he craned his neck, trying to get a good look at Luka’s face without moving his body too much. It wasn’t much use, but the PSY signature told all. Luka was fast asleep.

Nick was starting to think he was dealing with an actual idiot. No matter how powerful Luka was, he couldn’t do shit if he wasn’t _awake_. Which meant Nick was free to do whatever he liked.

_Get out of here! Now! Before he wakes up!_

No. This might be his one and only opportunity. The instant Luka woke up, Nick's advantage would be null and void. Even if he could manage to slip out of Luka’s arms without waking him, he could be tracked so easily afterwards…and what if Isidore was lurking just around the hall? He didn’t know if he’d been out for minutes or hours.

His surest shot at escape would be to make sure Luka never woke up. If Luka died, his domination would die with it. Isidore would be no threat at all after that.

Luka must have really scrambled his brain. That should have been the very first thing to come to mind. He needed to kill the bastard now, while he couldn’t fight back.

How could he do it? Nick’s gaze roamed around the dim room as he searched for some kind of weapon. The same short coils of rope Isidore had used to tie up Nick were sitting on the dresser. Those would work—but even sneaking over to get them might be too much of a risk. His bare hands could do the same job, couldn’t they?

With excruciating care, Nick began to shift within Luka’s arms, turning himself around. He monitored the man’s breathing for any changes, but there were none. A deep sleeper, maybe.

Now Nick could see Luka’s face. His lips were flushed and slightly parted, the only bit of color on his smooth, utterly untroubled face. It was kind of weird. While he was awake, that face seemed so doll-like and alien, but while Luka was asleep, he actually looked human. Maybe it was because his eyes were closed.

Luka’s neck was as delicate as the rest of him, and so pale that Nick could make out the powder blue vein running down it. Nick had no doubt that he could wrap his hands around the man's throat easily. Adrenaline would give him the strength to crush his windpipe. At least, he hoped that was how it worked.

So why the fuck was he hesitating? What was he so afraid of? Sure, this wasn’t going to be pretty, but his life and his mind were at stake. Nick forced himself to remember how it had felt to be held in place by PSY while Luka probed at his ass or drowned him in milk.

Nick arranged his hands into the right position, one on each side of Luka's throat, willing them to stop shaking. Half-measures would get him killed or worse.

He just had to squeeze as hard as he could. Simple. Easy. Nick closed his eyes, but it didn’t help. This wasn’t something he could do blind. Maybe if he just pretended they weren’t his hands at all—that they belonged to someone else, someone he’d taken control of.

Nick opened his eyes, ready to _force_ his hands to obey him,

Luka was looking back at him, smiling slightly.

“Did you sleep well?” Luka asked, and Nick recoiled. He hadn’t actually expected to be able to move, and shocked even himself when he went tumbling backwards off the bed. He twisted and managed to land on his feet, then bolted for the door, but his foot slipped on the edge of the sheet that was still tangled around his midsection. Once he went down, he stayed down, frozen on his knees, palms flat against the floor and shoulders shuddering.

“Now, what was that? Where were you going?” Luka chided from behind him. The bed creaked.

“Stay the fuck away from me!” spat Nick, his voice broken with terror.

Guided by PSY, Nick shuffled around on his knees and started to crawl back towards Luka, who sat on the end of the bed. He strained at every muscle in his body, futile, last minute resistance, but he still went creeping back, and even tilted his face upwards once he was there, like an inquisitive animal. He wasn’t even allowed to hide that much.

"Nick, calm down!” Luka said, holding up his open palms. “I’m not angry at you. There’s no reason to be afraid.” He reached downwards, but it was only to pull the sheet off of Nick’s shoulders and toss it back on the bed in a crumpled heap.

“Were you ever really asleep?” asked Nick. His voice was rough and sounded strange even to his own ears. Maybe speaking at all was a mistake, but he had to know if he’d even had a chance in the first place. It should have been impossible for Luka to fake sleep like that...but everything about Luka was already impossible.

“…Yes?” Luka peered at him dubiously, like he didn’t understand what the significance could possibly be. “I was tired, too. I didn’t know it would upset you…there’s no need to be shy at this late hour, is there?”

“You decided to curl up for a nap, knowing I could kill you at any time?” Nick was in disbelief. There was no way Luka hadn’t noticed Nick’s hands around his throat.

“You couldn’t,” Luka replied, shaking his head shortly.

“I was just about to,” Nick snarled. Pressing the issue when he was being let off easy was a stupid move, but this particular game was seriously pissing him off.

“You couldn’t,” Luka repeated, with utter certainty.

Tempting as it was to dismiss Luka as an idiot and a lunatic…he was right, yet again. If Nick hadn't hesitated, he could have already been on the run. Instead, he was kneeling at the feet of his tormenter, bound by PSY, helplessly waiting for the next round of playtime to begin.

His own fault. His own choice. A chance to get his revenge and get away from these sick fucks had been handed to him on a silver platter, but he’d still fucked it up.

Luka wasn’t an idiot. He’d gone to sleep content in the knowledge that Nick was too weak to save himself.

To Nick’s disgust, he couldn’t hold back the burning tears of shame and frustration. He held his breath and blinked rapidly, but it was no use, and once they started rolling there was no stopping them. Soon his shoulders were shaking with sobs. Luka was staring down at him with what seemed to be genuine confusion and distress.

“Don’t cry, now. Please don’t. There’s no reason to cry.” Luka leaned downward to pat the top of Nick’s head lightly. “I’ll bring you something nice. How about it? You’re hungry now, right?” Nick was hardly capable of answering him, even if he'd had anything to say. Luka stood, wringing the hem of his pajamas and looking about anxiously for a few moments before padding out of the room on bare feet. He closed the door behind him, locking it was a soft click, and the room was cast into total darkness once again.

With his own body back under his control, even if only for a few seconds, Nick scrambled backwards until he hit a wall, then sat with his knees up, scrubbing his eyes and cheeks with his bandaged wrists. He could hardly breathe.

He was never getting out of here. For the first time, Nick couldn’t get rid of that thought.

If he really was—

If he really was going to die like this—

He didn’t have the right to shed any tears over it. He didn’t have the right to sit around and loathe himself. He was just crying out of self-pity. Indulging himself. Proving himself even more of a fucking weakling.

Strangely enough, those were the thoughts that let him wrench control of his grief and stop the hysterics. When Luka returned, a broad black tray in his hands, Nick’s face was dry again, though he could feel how swollen his eyes were.

Rather than forcing Nick back to his knees, Luka allowed Nick to keep control of himself, and set the tray right in front of his feet before sitting atop the bed, some distance away.

“You can eat as much as you want,” said Luka sunnily. “Just take it slow.” Nick looked dully from Luka’s expectant face to the tray. It was fruit, mostly, sliced into neat cubes and delicate slivers and arranged in piles on three separate bowls and plates. Apples, oranges, melon, grapes…all fresh and bright and bursting with juice.

Nick should have been utterly ravenous by this point, but he’d forgotten about his own hunger, and now he mostly felt hollow nausea. He took a single grape and dropped it mechanically into his mouth. The burst of sweetness when he bit down was so strong that he would have spit it out if he hadn’t feared the consequences.

Once he’d chewed and swallowed it, though, his stomach demanded more, rumbling like an awakened bear. Nick blindly shoved more fruit in his mouth, getting juice all over his fingers and chin in the process. He didn’t give a fuck. There was no denying that kind of need.

“So this is a little more to your liking? Better than before?” Luka’s giggle and the reminder of their last breakfast turned Nick’s stomach. He awkwardly swallowed down what was in his mouth, then glanced between Luka and the tray. If he stopped eating, the exact same scene might play out again.

So what if it did? It should have been impossible to be both scared and apathetic at the same time, but Nick had somehow managed it.

“I’m not going to do anything to you, Nick,” said Luka. Of course he’d picked up on the fear. “You were punished enough, last night. I’m not the monster you think I am.”

“Why are you being so nice? What’s your plan?” Nick asked coldly.

“No plan. Well, maybe Isidore has one. But I’ve always thought that planning ahead is a good way to end up broken-hearted.”

“Shut up!” Nick snapped. Luka flinched, and then his eyes narrowed visibly, but he didn’t stop Nick from going on. “Suddenly you’ve decided I’m a human being after all? Bullshit!” Maybe he wanted Luka to hurt him, in a way. He had no stomach for this cloying false kindness, and he could hardly be any more miserable.

“There’s nothing sudden about it,” said Luka. He cast his head down, staring at his own hands as he arranged them neatly in his lap. “I’ve never considered you any less than a human being, Nick.”

“You fucked me in the ass!” Nick screamed. “You—you’ve taken away every bit of my freedom. You don’t do that to a human being!” He kicked out at the tray, overturning one of the bowls and sending grapes spilling out across the floor. But his burst of rage was short-lived, and he slumped back against the wall.

Luka raised his head and frowned slightly. His eyes followed one of the rolling grapes until it went still, and then he stood. The seconds that passed before he spoke again were excruciating, but his voice was soft and cajoling.

“Nick, I do understand your feelings,” said Luka. “But you’re misguided. For one, how can I take away something you never had?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Nick had started to tremble again. He’d been bracing himself for Luka’s cold fury, but his continued gentleness was somehow frightening in itself.

“I’ll admit that I took your virginity. But your freedom? That’s impossible. You’ve never been free. You never will be." Luka started to walk towards him. Nick was frozen in place, but he couldn’t have said whether it was PSY or just his own overwhelming dread that kept him there.

Luka knelt and picked up the overturned bowl. He examined it, shook his head regretfully, and then started to collect the fallen grapes. Nick mustered his courage and tried to speak again.

“You’re still not making any—“

“Maybe the analogy Isidore taught me will help you understand,” Luka didn’t raise his voice, but he still effortlessly cut Nick off. He spoke without hesitation or emotion, continuing to drop grapes back in the bowl as he went on. “The freedom you thought you had was the freedom of a stray dog. You could say a stray is free to go where it wants. Free to scavenge from garbage, free to starve in the gutters. Free to be shot or poisoned by hateful people. Not free at all.”

“I’m not a fucking dog,” said Nick, but his voice was very small.

“No,” Luka said. “Your plight was far more pitiable.”

“What the hell would you know about it?”

“Isidore told me about you, last night. He told me about how things are done in this country. I already knew about what was done with the children—the machines they use to assign you a letter. In your case, that letter would be S.

“You were branded for life by that letter.  Put on a registry, watched, recorded, studied—taught from infancy that you must restrain yourself for the sake of the weaker beings around you.

“Then, once you were half-grown, you were let loose… With no one willing to help, and so many waiting to blame you for any mistakes. They castrated you with fear, then expected you to survive on your own, when they weren’t using you for their own purposes. That’s true cruelty.” After dropping the very last grape into the bowl, Luka replaced it on the tray at Nick’s feet. There, crouched only inches away, he looked at Nick again with a soft smile.

“And—and you two just thought you’d put me out of my misery.” Nick didn’t know if the catch in his voice was the beginning of laughter, or another sobbing fit.

“You would have to ask Isidore what he was thinking. But… if you truly feel that you were happy as you were, that means he took you in before you could suffer too badly.”

“So Isidore can do no wrong, huh?” By shifting the topic, Nick was able to bring himself away from the edge of hysteria. It made Luka’s delusions that much more plain. So that whole disgusting speech about stray dogs had been fed to him by Isidore? How much was this nutcase even capable of thinking for himself?

“I wouldn't go that far," Luka said lightly. "But he’s very perceptive, even without the power. Or rather, because he doesn’t have it, he has to be. There are many who owe everything to him.”

“Yeah, he seems real compassionate.”

“Oh, no. He’s never been that!” Luka settled on the floor, crossing his legs, his usual cheerful mien back in full. His tone was fond and conversational. “If I’m a monster, you must think Isidore is the devil himself! He doesn’t act out of the goodness of his heart. But still, there are men in this world worse than he could ever dream of being.”

“Sure.”

“He’s quite taken with you, you know,” Luka said, with a sly sideways glance.

“Who is?”

“Isidore, of course! If you weren’t quite special to him, he wouldn’t take nearly so much care. How well did you know him before he took you?”

“He’s a complete fucking stranger.” Nick was briefly startled out of his automatic sarcasm.

“He never spoke with you once?” Luka asked, eyes going round.

“I’m not lying,” Nick muttered.

“I know you’re not. It’s just incredible. Because we’re such good friends, I forget how shy he is.”

 _“_ You’re fucking kidding me.”

“It’s natural, isn’t it? Think of what he is. He must be on guard at all times. It’s very difficult for him to come to an understanding with anyone.” Luka grew thoughtful. “But he’s actually quite open around you. You may not have known him, but he’s known you for quite some time. I can tell.”

“You’re saying…he was stalking me?” Nick shouldn’t have been surprised to hear it, or any more disgusted than he already was, but the thought of Isidore watching him from afar even before he’d been captured made his skin crawl.

“No, no. That’s not a nice thing to say about someone who loves you so much,” chided Luka.

Nick had a few choice replies to that on the tip of his tongue, but then he swallowed them down. There was absolutely no point to arguing with Luka. It was dangerous, in more than one way. And there was no more significance to anything he said than there was in the babbling of a parrot.

“Ah, don’t worry so much, Nick. You can say whatever you like. I won’t get so angry at you again.” When Nick didn’t reply, he frowned again, and patted his thigh. “Come here.”

Nick turned his head away and grimaced, trying to make it clear what he thought of Luka’s invitation without saying anything more.

He shouldn’t have doubted for a minute whether he’d be given the right to refuse. He closed his eyes as he fell to his knees again, shuffling forward and resting one cheek against Luka’s thigh. It smelled a little like sweat and a little like ozone.

“It’ll be all right. From now on, I promise I’ll try to love you as much as Isidore does. I’ll keep you safe.” He rested his hand on Nick’s head. He was gentle, but Nick still felt the threat of being pushed downwards, forced to bury his face entirely in soft cloth and flesh and smother himself.

“If you care so much, then let me go,” Nick whispered, no longer above pleading.

“Weren’t you listening?” asked Luka softly. “Letting you go would be what would destroy you.”


	8. Trust

For the rest of the day, Luka was both gentle and merciless.

He no longer asked for Nick's cooperation, or even spoke to him at all beyond the occasional hum. After spending far too long with his head in Luka's lap, Nick was taken to the bathroom and forced to kneel in the tub for another hose down. Luka washed him thoroughly, avoiding only his bandaged wrists, but his touch was clinical and didn't linger—a small mercy that made the process bearable, if unpleasant.

Luka brought him to the kitchen once Nick was clean, where a similar process played out. Nick was offered food, simple sandwiches and a thermos of cold vegetable soup, and had no choice but to chew and swallow whatever entered his mouth. He tasted nothing. But at least he didn't choke on it. Choking was impossible. So was cursing, or screaming, or crying.

As degrading as it all was, Nick was simply too exhausted to care. At least this way, with every decision taken out of his hands, he didn't have to weigh his pride against his most basic needs. And throughout it all, none of his dozens of bruises and scrapes hurt in the slightest. Luka must have shut down whatever part of his brain was responsible for processing pain.  
How incredibly fucking considerate of him.

After everything else had been taken care of, Luka even obliged Nick's wish to be left the hell alone. Nick was taken to the sitting room and forced to curl up on one end of the sofa, while Luka arranged himself at the opposite end and opened a book.

Luka's control relaxed then, just as it had the day before. Nick was able to turn his head and shift his weight freely. If he'd wanted to, he probably could have spoken. But he had nothing to say, and minutes of silence turned into hours. The time passed with excruciating slowness, and yet it still passed. The thin strips of sky visible through the gaps in the blinds gradually darkened until they were pitch black.  
Nick tried not to think about what that meant—about what happened next. Better to simply pretend that he didn't exist. He found some success in that.

It was so quiet for so long that the clap when Luka finally closed his book was startlingly loud. Nick risked a glance over at him, saw his slight, pensive frown, and shuddered with an uneasy premonition. One of the dogs in the yard started to bark. Then the second dog joined it, their barks mingling in chaotic chorus, before both suddenly went quiet at once. As if by command.  
Isidore was home.

No. No. No. A chorus of denial echoed in Nick's head, and it seemed almost as if it were working, that the power of his desperation had been enough to keep the son of a bitch at bay.

It was no good. His prayers, if that was what you could call them, went unanswered. The glass-paneled doors down the hall rattled faintly. Then there was the sound of Isidore's heavy and purposeful footsteps, already a familiar terror to Nick, drawing closer and closer—before they passed the room by entirely.

It seemed like Isidore was in no particular hurry tonight.

"Shh, shh." Nick had forgotten Luka in his panic, and found the man was gazing at him with sympathy. "It won't be as bad as you think. I'll help you, alright? Just trust me."

What the hell was that supposed to mean? There was power behind his words, muddling Nick's thoughts and dulling his senses. But even befuddled, Nick was still sharp enough to realize what Luka was trying to do—he would use his PSY to lull Nick into a comfortable stupor, so he would wait there without fuss until Isidore finally decided to get around to raping him.

Needless to say, Nick fought back, a vicious struggle entirely within the confines of his mind. Even if he was reduced to nothing but a helpless doll, he still had a mind of his own. If he let Luka take even that from him, he was as good as dead.

As usual, Luka seemed unwilling to continue the emotional assault and risk permanent damage to Nick's psyche. But he didn't give up. He just switched his focus to adjusting Nick's body. Nick was forced to curl up with his back hunched and his arms wrapped around his knees. Deep, even breaths were forced in and out of his lungs, as if they were just a pair of bellows. He couldn't even choose where to look—his eyes were permanently cast down at the carpet.

This might be Luka's attempt at "help." As if by becoming small and silent, Nick would somehow turn invisible, and escape Isidore's notice when he finally came looking for them.

Well, it didn't fucking work.

"There you are," came Isidore's voice from the doorway at last, so casual, so fucking amused that Nick could have killed him just for that. "And there's our Nicholas."

Nick's heart was throbbing painfully--the one part of him that Luka couldn't touch (or hadn't dared to). Isidore came to stand in front of him, and Nick got to look at his neatly creased black pants and shiny leather shoes instead of the floor.

At least until Isidore's hand latched onto his chin, tilting his head back at a painful angle, forcing him to stare straight into the other man's eyes. Isidore was smiling slightly, his gaze as hard and pitiless as ever.  
"Luka's keeping you on a tight leash, isn't he?" Isidore said. His thumb was digging into Nick's throat. Nick blinked slowly and swallowed, as placid as could be—on the outside, at least. "That's no fun at all."

"Be gentle," said Luka. "He's exhausted."

"Wore him out, did you?" Isidore asked, his smile widening into something nastier.

"What you put him through last night was enough."

"Don't worry. He's still young." Isidore's free hand wandered across Nick's shoulder and collarbone. The gentle touch was even more excruciating than the harsh grip on his throat—his skin tingled and his spine ran cold, but he was unable even to twitch and shiver, let alone pull away.

"Why can't you just let him be?" Luka asked, uncharacteristically sharp. Isidore's head snapped to the side in surprise, and he studied Luka for a short while before squeezing Nick's chin one final time and releasing him. Then he took a seat on the sofa between Nick and Luka—still far too close for comfort.

No fun, Isidore had said. It made a sick sort of sense. Isidore was a sadistic son of a bitch, and he wanted to savor Nick's pain and fear. As long as Nick was completely under Luka's control and unable to physically react, he would be a lot less appealing.

But Luka couldn't keep him like this forever. Nick didn't want to stay like this forever. Not if it meant being held in a vice while Isidore fondled him.

As if he had a choice, one way or the other.

"Don't tell me you're still fuming about this morning," said Isidore.

"I'm not," was Luka's testy reply.

"I shouldn't have shouted at you."

"I don't care about that."

"Then what's got you so wound-up?"

"…You were late tonight," Luka said, after a discontented pause. "You should have been back hours ago."

"Luka." Isidore's sigh was a long-suffering one. "I have to work."

"I thought you were the boss. Can't you leave when you want? Who's going to stop you?"

"It's not that simple. We're in the middle of a crisis situation. I have responsibilities."

"Oh. I see. You have to take care of the office. That's what's most important to you."

"The company can go straight to hell for all I care," Isidore snapped. "But if I duck out early every single night, it'll be noticed. It'll be talked about. Uncharacteristic behavior is a risk I can't afford to take."

Luka gave a doubtful huff, but didn't pursue the matter. Nick just wondered what the hell they were playing at. They were acting like a parody of a quarreling husband and housewife—was it a real argument, or was this just another fucking game to them?

"Come on." Isidore's voice softened, somewhat, and became cajoling. "Don't try to tell me you got lonely. You had company."

Isidore shifted slightly, and then his hands were on Nick again, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and tugging until he toppled sideways.

"Isidore…"

"What? I'm not even hurting him."

Luka, despite his disapproval, actively helped in positioning Nick with his PSY. Between the two of them, they arranged him so that his head rested right atop Isidore's thighs. Once Isidore had Nick right where he wanted him, he started to comb idly through his curls.

It wasn't so terrible—that was what Nick tried to tell himself, as his heart continued to pound so hard that he worried it might give out. Isidore was being gentle, at least compared to the usual, and there was no direct threat in his petting. Nick still would have happily taken a hammer to the man's fingers. Isidore had to know just how scared he was—he was being toyed with.

"How was the brat, anyway?" Isidore asked. "You've warmed up to him again awfully quickly. I take it he improved his attitude."

"…No," said Luka. Nick's abused heart outright skipped a beat as Isidore's hand abruptly went still, mid-stroke.

"No?" Isidore repeated dangerously.

"I meant…Nick was never the one at fault," Luka said. "He didn't ask for this. And I lost my temper at him, instead of helping him understand his place."

"I wouldn't go that far," Isidore said with a snort, but the petting resumed, to Nick's shameful relief.

"Well," Luka murmured. "He was a good boy for me today. I think he's trying very hard."

"I'll believe it when I see it," said Isidore. "So why don't you let him have his freedom?"

"…I don't think I should." Luka tugged anxiously at the hem of his shirt, looking everywhere but at Isidore.

"You said yourself he's been behaving. What's there to worry about?"

"He's so frightened of you. He might not be able to control himself."

"And how's he going to learn, if you won't give him the chance?"

Nick didn't even know himself what he wanted Luka to do. Isidore would happily take any excuse to abuse him if he resisted, and not resisting might be impossible . But if he had to spend any more time in the man's lap, being stroked like a dog as his fate was discussed over his head, he might lose it.

"Now, Luka," Isidore said, and Luka withdrew from Nick in an instant.

It was far too sudden. At first, Nick literally floundered like a drowning swimmer. He sat back clumsily, anything to get his face away from Isidore's crotch, but he'd sucked in too much air too fast, now that his lung were finally his own again, causing a coughing fit.

Once he recovered, he found himself with Isidore's face only inches from his, teeth bared in a grin. Sure enough, Nick recoiled, shoving at the man's shoulder without even thinking. Isidore was prepared for that, grabbing him in a tight bear hug that pinned his arms to his side. Nick didn't have enough space to get off a good kick, either—and Luka had pressed himself against the far end of the couch, his face turned away.

"Get the cuffs out of my bag," Isidore told him. "You see? He has plenty of energy." There was a small canvas bag on the coffee table now, and handcuffs were probably the least of what it contained. Luka reached inside, plucking out the cuffs, and gave them to Isidore pinched between two fingers.

Nick was too weak to fight with even half the strength he'd had yesterday, and Isidore clearly had experience with such grappling matches. He was able to cuff Nick's hands behind his back without even turning him around, and Nick ended up riding unsteadily atop Isidore with bent knees, one of Isidore's powerful arms gripping tight beneath his thighs, the other hand tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Nicholas, I'm hurt," Isidore said in a sarcastic monotone. "Luka told me you behaved yourself for him. It's almost as if you don't like me."

"I hate you," Nick gasped. He shouldn't have said anything, just like he shouldn't have struggled in the first place. He didn't feel near as brave as the words sounded. But he was already screwed, in every sense of the word. "I fucking hate you. Let me go!"

Nick tried to close his eyes and brace himself, expecting a slap. He didn't get one. Isidore just tightened his grip on Nick's hair and yanked until he opened his eyes again.

"That won't do." Now Isidore took on a chiding tone. "A pet should be glad to see his owner. When I come home from a long day at work, I expect a proper greeting."

Wasn't he going to get on with it? Of course not. This was what the sick bastard got off on the most. He loved having Nick at his mercy, shivering and waiting in uncertain terror for what came next.

"Now, I won't ask for much. Not yet," Isidore said. "A kiss will suffice. Right here." Isidore indicated his cheek with a finger and raised his brows. At the same time, he untangled his fingers from Nick's hair, giving him full freedom to lean back—or in.

It wasn't what Nick had expected, an almost laughable request from the man who'd already mercilessly fucked him. Yet somehow, Nick would rather have licked those black leather shoes clean rather than touch any part of Isidore's skin by choice. All of Isidore was filthy, all of him was disgusting, but his face was especially terrible—that mouth that twisted in sick pleasure at Nick's suffering, and those glittering black eyes, always full of predatory interest.

Isidore's expression was already hardening as Nick hesitated, leaving no doubt at the consequences for refusing.

"Nick," said Luka softly. "Do it. Come on."

Nick shuddered and licked at his dry lips. It would be over in an instant. He wouldn't have to look. He didn't have to think.

He had no more time.

"Alright, then," Isidore said, clicking his tongue. "I can see you'd prefer a spanking."

Nick blanched and twisted away. He was too slow. Isidore snatched for his curls again and brutally wrenched his head down, lifting one of his legs at the same time, manhandling Nick until he was splayed across his lap. Nick tried to raise his head, but Isidore's elbow jabbed at the back of his neck, forcing it back down. He could kick freely now, but it did him no good.

There was still no escape.

"Isidore, please!" Luka had leapt to his feet, well clear of Nick's flailing legs. "Forgive him. Give him another chance."

"He had his chance, and he wasted it." Nick clenched his teeth as Isidore punctuated his words with a pinch to the ass. It hardly even hurt, but it still made him squirm. Squirming, to his disgust, just rubbed his bare, soft cock against Isidore's clothed one.

"I…I just…" Luka looked so genuinely stricken that for a moment, just for a moment, Nick wondered if he might actually do something. He met Luka's eyes, silently pleading with him.

Hadn't he said he would help? Told Nick to trust him?

Of course that had been a lie. Luka did nothing. He no longer even offered words in Nick's defense. He just lowered his head, slumping in visible resignation, though he glared at Isidore from beneath his lashes.

"There's no need for you to watch if you find it that unpleasant," said Isidore.

Luka's head jerked back upright, his eyes blazing, and though it was so brief it might have been a trick of Nick's imagination, it seemed that as if his PSY signature actually sparked in agitation. Nick recognized the look on his face at once. He'd been treated to that same look just before Luka tried to drown him in a bowl of cereal.

But Luka still said nothing. He turned on his heels and walked out, slamming the door behind him, extinguishing the last of Nick's hope as he went.

"So contrary," said Isidore. "Now. Where were we?"

Nick might have struggled more, however hopeless it was, but a jolt of unexpected pain ran through his body, paralyzing him. It didn't let up, either. His side twinged whenever he so much as shifted from side to side, his hips and his ass fucking ached…Nick couldn't understand what was happening to him.

Luka. Luka's PSY had been the only thing holding back the pain from last night's beating, and now that Luka was gone, the pain was back. If anything, it was worse than it had been that morning.

He'd been completely and utterly abandoned.

Nick hated himself for even thinking of it that way. He hated Luka even more. Luka, the first one to rape him. The one who'd dominated Nick, humiliated him, tried to worm his way into his mind and turn him into a willing bitch.

Every single thing that Isidore had done to him was only possible because Luka had locked away his PSY. And Nick had fallen low enough to hope for rescue from the very source of all his pain, and to feel betrayed when he was left with nothing.

"That's it, Nicholas," Isidore soothed from above him. Nick had gone limp, and he must have taken that as submission. "Let's get this over with while the night's still young."

Needless to say, as much as Nick hated Luka and himself, he still hated Isidore more than he'd thought it was possible to hate anything, and as the man's hand came down on the already bruised and tender flesh of his ass, that hate burned within him like a white-hot coal.

It fucking hurt, not at all like the sting of the paddle from before, but a deep pain that had Nick yelping shamelessly with a hoarse, near-broken voice. He had already been hit too many times—the flesh was too tender and bruised to bear any more abuse. And he was given no time at all to recover from one smack before the next one came. Soon he was desperately sobbing, his breath hitching in time with the blows, streams of tears running hot down his burning cheeks.

At least this time, he didn't get hard. The same couldn't be said for Isidore. Nick could feel it.

Whether Isidore hit him ten times, or twenty times, or a hundred, Nick couldn't tell. All he knew was that it eventually ended, although his crying didn't, and neither did the pain. It just became a fresher ache among hundreds of other aches.

"Cheer up, brat," Isidore murmured. "I went easy on you."

A soft cloth rubbed against his cheek—Isidore had produced a handkerchief, and was wiping his face clean of tears and snot. Nick couldn't even muster the energy to jerk his head away.

"You see, I thought we could have a little talk, and I need you conscious for that. How about it? Do you feel up to it?"

"I'll talk," Nick choked out, earning him an approving pat to the head. His humiliation was absolute. It also hurt even to speak, but it hurt less than another spanking, and that was all Nick gave a damn about at the moment.

"That's a good boy. Now tell me. Did Luka fuck you today?" From the way he asked, Isidore might have been asking whether or not Nick had eaten breakfast.

"No," Nick said, refusing to think about why Isidore wanted to know.

"Why not?"

"I…I don't know." The quaver that entered Nick's voice was pathetic, but he didn't know if that was an acceptable answer.

"Hmm." Isidore sounded more pensive than annoyed. "I'm sure he'll say he felt sorry for you, but I think it's something else. Something about you still puts him on edge. So tell me. If he wasn't using you, what exactly did you two do all day?"

"Nothing," said Nick, but then he bit back a cry as Isidore's hand brushed down his back, leaving a trail of pain for every bruise he touched, and began to stroke his thighs.

"Answer me properly."

"No, I…" Nick gasped, panic making it hard to find words. "I…Luka, he just…sat there. He barely even…said anything."

"But he did say something?" Isidore prodded.

"He barely made any sense." Nick shuddered as he recalled Luka's cheerful madness. "Going on about how he couldn't let me go. How people were going to shoot me, or poison me."

Isidore let out a sharp, genuine laugh, and Nick flinched from the sound. Then he narrowed his eyes, ashamed of his own cowering. The pain wasn't going away, but he was growing used to it, and the miserable haze was starting to clear.

"Why…are you laughing?" Nick asked through gritted teeth. "You were the one who told him that. He said you were."

"The freedom of a stray dog," Isidore said lightly. "Yes, I think I remember. That was a long, long time ago." He laughed again, though Nick failed to see what was so funny. "Luka will pretend he has a mind like a sieve, but he never really forgets anything."

"He said…you were watching me. Stalking me. Before you took me. Is that true?" Nick asked.

"I only wish I'd had the time," said Isidore lightly. "But. Well. I won't deny I've had my eye on you for a long time, Nicholas." His hand, still hovering around Nick's thighs, moved back up to cup one of his ass cheeks possessively. "An opportunity to take something as rare and well-guarded as you doesn't come along every day. I had to be patient. I had to wait years for you."

Nick knew he was pushing his luck. Isidore was only tolerating his questions because he found them amusing. But it also felt like the only possible time to ask, and possibly get something close to the truth.

"Who are you?" Nick asked.

"What kind of inane question is that?"

"…You won't answer?"

"You're mine. I can do whatever I want with you," Isidore said flatly. "That's all that matters. Who I am, why I'm doing this—what damn difference does it make?"

Nick was dazed and broken down enough that he could almost see the logic in that. Would knowing who Isidore is make Nick hate him any more, or any less? Of course not. That was impossible—he already hated Isidore as much as he possibly could. Or would it show him some way to escape? That seemed just as unlikely.

And yet, something Isidore had said stuck out to Nick.

"Why you're doing this…" Nick muttered. "You have a reason?"

Isidore let out a soft puff of air, either a sigh or another small laugh.

"I'm not like Luka," he said, without a trace of further amusement or the sickening false affability he so often employed. The talk was over, Nick could tell that much. "I don't need to justify myself to a brat like you." He abruptly shifted his legs beneath Nick, shoving him off his lap and onto the couch.

"Wha—" Nick grunted in confusion, craning his neck to try to see what Isidore was up to. The man was leaning forward, reaching into the canvas bag on the table—from which he pulled a familiar tube and a package of disposable gloves, which he set on the table.

"What do you think?" Isidore asked. "Lie still and I'll make it quick."

Nick had known this was coming, that it was inevitable. That didn't make him any more ready for it. He remembered far too keenly the sensation of being speared and torn apart from within—the fear and pain that had been carved into his body and soul by Isidore's rape. Even with no strength at all remaining, and nowhere to go, Nick made one last pathetic attempt to lunge off the couch.

Isidore was on him at once, and the resulting struggle could hardly even be called a struggle. He started with a sharp, punishing slap, and while Nick was still seeing stars, he grabbed him by the throat and slammed back down into the cushions, face-first.

It didn't stop with that. Isidore's heavy weight was on top of him, and his hands were everywhere, groping at his shoulders and sides and ass, reaching underneath him to pinch at his nipples. It was an unbearable onslaught. Before Isidore had teased lightly at Nick's injured places with his fingers, but now he grasped at him viciously, headless of where he touched and how hard he squeezed. Isidore kissed him, too, around his neck and his shoulders, teeth scraping the skin.

"Stop it…" Nick whimpered, managing to turn his face to the side so that he could still breathe. "Stop touching me. It hurts. It fucking hurts."

"Oh, does it hurt?" Isidore asked, a high-pitched mockery, but he withdrew his hand—only to gouge his fingers into Nick's side, right below his ribs, where he'd landed a few of his most vicious kicks the previous night. Nick gave a scream that turned into a hysterical sob.

"Idiot boy. It's your own fault," came a whisper in Nick's ear. "Now be still."

Nick obeyed. He went quiet, too, aside from his ragged, uncontrollable crying. Behind him, he heard the rustle of plastic, the pop of a cap—then there was a hand at his hips, slipping below, propping up his ass and pushing his thighs apart, then holding tight to keep him in position.

"Please…please don't do this…" Pride was nothing compared with what Nick knew was coming. The word please spilled out of his lips automatically, again and again. Isidore clicked his tongue and released Nick to rummage through the canvas bag once more, pulling out a long white cloth. Then he took advantage of Nick's babbling to slip the cloth through his open mouth and tie it tightly behind his head. There was a large knot tied in the middle of it, pressing down on his tongue and tickling the back of his throat. Nick shook his head back and forth, dog-like, but it hardly budged.

Now that Nick was gagged, Isidore pried his legs apart once again, probing with slick fingers at his hole. Nick sank his teeth into the cloth, a moan of despair bubbling up from deep within him. He held himself taut, which made it all the more excruciating as Isidore entered him. It wasn't his cock—not yet. It was only a single finger—only a single finger, Nick repeated in his head, hysteria threatening to overcome him completely. But even that was so much worse than it had been before, a deep and sickening pain as the strained muscle was forced to give way. Nick jolted and shuddered, his wordless cries muffled but not silenced by the gag.

"So noisy," said Isidore. "Really, Nicholas. You'd think I was killing you."

If one finger hurt this bad, Nick could believe a cock really would kill him. A second finger joined the first. His nose clogged and his mouth blocked, Nick's lungs burned and his head spun, his perception reduced to only the rawest and most visceral sensations—heat and pain.

"Shh." Isidore's lips tickled the nape of his neck, then his tongue teased his ear. "It'll be over soon."

Isidore's fingers slid out, catching tortuously at the rim of Nick's hole. Nick screwed his eyes shut and waited. But there was a pause, a long moment without any touch or any more pain, so long that Nick cracked his eyes open again in bleary confusion.

The door was open. There was a human shape there. Nick could hardly see through his tears, but Luka's PSY signature burned bright.

"Here to join in on the fun?" Isidore asked, with heavy sarcasm. Even if Nick couldn't see his expression, his tension was palpable.

"I don't think Nick is having fun," said Luka coolly. "Only you."

"If you don't like it, you can leave," said Isidore. "I've already told you once."

"It doesn't matter where I go," Luka retorted. "I can feel him, all over the house. The boy's spirit is screaming. There's no way for me not to know."

"Don't give me that nonsense." Isidore gave a humorless chuckle. "He's a toy. This is what he's for."

Luka made no reply. Nick slowly began to shift in place, trying to at least close his legs, but Isidore put a stop to that with a sharp warning squeeze. The message was clear: Nick's fate was only being delayed.  
Why, Nick wondered numbly, had Luka even bothered to return? Why was he blathering on like this, as if Isidore was a man who could ever be stopped by pity?

"He's not just a toy to you," Luka said at last.

"A pet, then," Isidore said. "It's all the same."

"No!" Luka said, shaking his head vehemently. "No. I've never seen you so desperate. All you care about is taking this boy. Making him yours. It's clear as day. You would never look at a toy the way you look at him. Or a pet." Nick had never heard Luka talk so quickly, or with so much fire. There was a bright flush to his porcelain face, visible even far away.

"I have needs, Luka," hissed Isidore. His grip had grown to bruising strength, his nails digging into Nick's flesh—whether he intended to hurt him or not, he ignored Nick's groan of pain.

"Yes, he's perfect for all your needs, isn't he?" Luka shot back, scathing. "Young and strong and easy for you to hurt. A sweet face and a beautiful body. It would be strange if you didn't fall head over heels for him!"

"I see," said Isidore, and he abruptly relaxed his harsh hold on Nick's thigh. "You're jealous."

This realization seemed to have sapped the tension from him entirely. He released Nick and stood, taking a few steps towards Luka.

Once he was out of arms reach, Nick immediately curled up into a ball, ignoring the twinges of pain from his lower half and the disgusting, slippery sensation in his ass. Even if he'd had faith that his trembling legs would support his weight, the two of them were blocking his route to the door. All he could do was wait and watch with his back end pressed against the couch, expecting Isidore to turn around and resume the torture at any moment.

But for now, at least, Isidore had eyes for no one other than Luka.

"So that's what's gotten into you. You're jealous of the brat." Isidore spoke in a tone of faint wonder. As he approached Luka, he stripped off his gloves, tossing them both carelessly onto the carpet.

"Maybe I am. How can I not be?" Luka leaned back and eyed Isidore with suspicion, arms folded tight across his chest. "You brought home a pet that suits your own desires, saying he's for me. Now you're ignoring me, shouting at me, pushing me to the side, taking him all for yourself—get away!"

Isidore ignored the warning, wrapping his arms around Luka's back and pulling him forward into an embrace. Luka didn't try to fight back, physically or otherwise, but he held himself completely stiff and refused to so much as meet Isidore's eyes. Nick instinctively cringed, anticipating violence—that Isidore would subdue Luka with the same brutal methods he used on Nick.

But he didn't. Isidore did nothing except hold the other man, speaking to him in a low, cajoling voice, with every appearance of tenderness.

Even if appearance was all it was. With a Void, there was no way of knowing.

"No fucktoy could ever replace you, and you know it. You're being absurd."

"I'm not. You're the one who's acting strange." Luka had grown sullen. "I don't like it at all."

"Maybe I've been a bit…eager," Isidore conceded. "I've been looking forward to having this one for so long. There's a whole list of things I've been waiting to do to him."

"Let go of me and do them, then," Luka snapped, pushing at Isidore's chest, but Isidore was immovable.

"But why do you think I wanted him so badly in the first place? Why do you think I made myself wait so long? It was because of what he means for the two of us."

Nick could barely begin to understand what they were even talking about. Isidore said Luka was jealous, and Luka didn't argue—but the very idea was so nonsensical that Nick couldn't begin to wrap his mind around it. These had their own logic, their own language, and it seemed as if every word had implications known only to them.

It was tempting to shut his eyes, bury his face in his arms, and simply stop listening until they came for him again. But Nick watched, and he listened.

Luka had relaxed into Isidore's arms. He buried his face in Isidore's shoulder, even though mere moments ago, he'd been pushing him away in anger. Either he was receptive to Isidore's argument, or just receptive to his touch. Those hands, Isidore's hands, which were nothing but instruments of fear to Nick, seemed to have the exact opposite effect on Luka as Isidore rubbed gently at his back.

"From the moment I first saw him, I thought he might be the one," Isidore continued. "And now I'm utterly certain. There's no better raw material to be found. He's perfect…or at least he will be. Once I'm finished with him."

"After you break him," Luka murmured.

"…Yes. So can you blame me for having a bit of extra fun while I still can?"

Nick shivered, his stomach roiling with disgust. No matter what went on between these two, there was one constant—he was just a thing to them. A thing they had plans for.  
Reconciliation for them just meant double the danger for Nick.

"You're going to remake him just the way you like them," said Luka.

"Just the way you like them," Isidore assured him. "He's going to be a very sweet boy for you, once I'm done. Very eager to please."

"But how can you know that for sure?" Luka asked.

"What?" Isidore sounded bemused.

"He's not even broken yet," Luka lifted his head from Isidore's shoulder and fixing him with a keen look. "Maybe the pieces won't fit back together exactly the way you want them to. Especially if you can't be honest about what you want. About whether he's a toy, or a pet, or…something else."

"Luka," Isidore said with a sigh. "Don't you trust me at all? After all this time? I know what I'm doing. And I sure as hell know what I want."

"What do you want?" Luka asked. He was staring at Isidore still, unblinking.

"To make you happy." Isidore said it as if it were the most self-evident thing in the world. This answer appeared to satisfy Luka, who smiled and nuzzled his cheek against Isidore's like a pleased cat. Isidore kissed him, not on the mouth, but lightly on the forehead.

"If you want me to be happy, you should do whatever I say," Luka announced.

"All right, all right," soothed Isidore, stroking at his head.

"Leave that boy alone," Luka said. "You've had more than enough of him."

Nick did his best to suppress his jump of surprise, not wanting to draw their attention back to him at the worst of times. Isidore clearly hadn't anticipated it, either, his brow furrowing.

"Luka, be reasonable," he chided, but Luka refused to give ground.

"Only for a little while. Tonight and tomorrow. If you control yourself for that long…I won't be jealous anymore. I'll let you play with Nick as much as you want. Can you do it?"

"Of course I can do it," Isidore grumbled. "I'm not some animal."

"I wonder, sometimes."

As the two continued to cling to each other, Isidore whispering something too soft to hear in Luka's ear, Nick tried to process what he'd just heard.

He'd gotten a reprieve. He wouldn't have to take Isidore's cock tonight. There was an initial, incredibly rush of relief, though it faded quickly, leaving him with a hollow, brittle feeling inside.

Perhaps it was just a joke. A lie. A trick.

And even if it were true, Luka hadn't interceded because he gave a damn what happened to Nick—he was just trying to monopolize Isidore's attention. He'd practically offered Nick on a silver platter.

Nick closed his eyes, unable to bear another second of the display in front of him. Let Luka have the bastard, if he wanted him so badly. Let both of these sick fucks have each other, and leave Nick out of it. They deserved each other.

He felt Luka's PSY seeping back into him, wiping away one pain after another, whispering wordlessly that all was well.

Shortly after, he was offered oblivion, a gift that Nick accepted without complaint.


	9. Wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all my readers who have been so patient with this story. There are multiple reasons why chapters have been so long in coming, despite my too-optimistic predictions. Most of them have been taken care of at this point in time, but I hope you'll bear with me. Thank you again for all your kind comments.

By Nick's reckoning, it hadn't been any more than three days since he was taken, but he was already getting used to waking up in darkness. There was still that initial panic when he opened his eyes and found himself blind, his arms fixed above his head and his legs tangled between rough sheets, but it subsided as soon as he realized he was alone.

PSY-induced sleep was deep, dreamless, and difficult to measure. Nick had no way of knowing if he'd been unconscious for minutes, hours, or even days. But he could still use his body to keep track of things. The ache of his hunger and the urgency of his thirst meant he'd been asleep for a long time. The fresh pain in his spanked ass meant it hadn't been _that_ long.

As for where he was, Nick didn't need his sight to make a good guess. He was back in that plain, windowless cell, cuffed to the bed where Isidore had raped him. This was probably meant as "his" room—a convenient place where his captors could keep him safely confined, and fuck him without making a mess of wherever Isidore and Luka actually slept. This thought came to him as a simple observation, devoid of emotion, and Nick winced a few seconds too late.

He already knew that the two of them saw him as nothing but a toy, something to be locked up in a spare room and forgotten once their play was done, but that didn't mean he had to start buying into it. This wasn't _his_ room, he wasn't anybody's plaything, and he wasn't going to be here forever.

Nick stared into the darkness, repeating those thoughts like a mantra. After some time, the muffled sound of footsteps broke the silence, and he sensed Luka's PSY signature drawing near.

The door opened and the light flicked on, confirming his location. More importantly, Nick could see that Luka was by himself, hovering in the doorway like a pale, timid spirit.

Ever so carefully, Luka began to edge closer. Why the hell was he looking at Nick like that? His expression was soft and sorrowful, and he said nothing, as if Nick was too pitiful for words.

It pissed Nick off.

"…Isidore's already left for work," Luka said, as he finally reached the bedside. "So you don't have to be afraid."

Nick's only response was to turn his face towards the wall.

"You wouldn't have to be afraid, even if he were here. I had him promise me. He won't hurt you today, or even touch you." Luka left a long pause after this. Awaiting some heartfelt expression of gratitude, maybe.

Did he think Nick was an idiot? Or that he'd been too out of it last night to hear the terms of the bargain his captors had struck between them? _If you control yourself for that long…I won't be jealous anymore. I'll let you play with Nick as much as you want._ What did it matter if Nick was spared Isidore's attentions for one day, when Luka would happily toss him back to the wolf the very next morning?

"Nick…" Luka's voice and a cool hand on his shoulder startled Nick out of his grim thoughts. "I know it may not seem that way right now. But it's going to be all right."

Gritting his teeth, Nick held his silence. The tips of Luka's fingers brushed across his cheek. For a little while, Luka contented himself with simply tucking Nick's curls behind his ears and caressing his cheeks in a strange little motion—like he was wiping away non-existent tears.

But what came after that was unbearable. Luka's PSY came rushing into him, a wave of warmth that irresistibly soothed his quivering muscles, erasing all of his countless pains so swiftly and completely that he felt like a whiteboard being wiped clean.

Nick hated it.

"Get out of my head." It came out as nothing but a rasp, a soft, helpless ghost of a noise that didn't even sound like his voice.

"Shh," Luka soothed. "I'm going to make you feel better. That's all."

"I don't care!" With great effort, Nick was able to force out a sharp, desperate bark. "Get out. Get the hell out!" He rattled his cuffs and braced himself for a mental struggle, but Luka withdrew without a fight. The pain returned all at once, biting at Nick from head to toe, inside and out. Hunger and thirst, bone deep exhaustion, bruises and scrape and marks left by teeth, and even the ache of his much abused ass—

But this was what he wanted.

"I was only trying to help," Luka held up his hands, voice full of reproach. "Do you really dislike me so much, Nick?"

 _Dislike_ didn't come close to describing it. But that wasn't the reason Nick had resisted. It was a rare misread from Luka, and Nick wasn't about to correct it.

The truth was, Nick was scared—scared of how easy it was to become dependent on Luka's PSY. After spending all of yesterday anaesthetized, the surge of pain when Luka abandoned him had come as a terrible shock to his system.

No matter how good it might feel in the short term, Luka's PSY was pure poison. Every time Nick let it touch his mind without a fight, he would be left a little weaker, a little more helpless. And that was just how the bastards wanted him.

"Poor thing. Of course. You're still overwhelmed." Luka murmured. He gave a rueful shake of his head as he leaned in and unlocked Nick's cuffs.

"You'll realize soon enough that my power isn't anything to be afraid of. But until then…" He trailed off pensively, while Nick stretched out his shoulders and rubbing his numb arms back into some semblance of life. When he looked up, Luka had taken up a disarming pose, eyes cast towards the floor and hands clasped behind his back.

"As long as you do as you're told, and let me take care of you properly…I suppose there's no need for me to use my power to direct you."

Nick could read the threat that lay between the lines: comply, or be turned into a puppet. Nick gave a small shrug, knowing Luka would catch his intent. _I'll do as I'm told if it'll keep you out of my head._

"Thank you, Nick." Luka beamed at him in approval. "Now. Can you tell me what you want for breakfast?"

Nick expressed no preference. Ten minutes later, after propelling himself down the hall on achy, unsteady legs, he was sitting at the kitchen table in front of a plate of thick, slightly charred slices of toast.

Being expected to eat breakfast stark naked wasn't any less bizarre than it had been the first time. The uncushioned seat of the chair wasn't exactly kind to his sore ass, either, but like hell Nick was going to complain. He held himself stiff and moved as little as possible, focusing on taking small, measured sips of the water Luka had provided alongside the toast.

Luka sat across from him. At first, he appeared oblivious to Nick's discomfort as he heaped bright red jam onto his own stack of toast. However, he soon paused with the spoon poised above the jar, giving Nick a self-conscious glance.

"Did you want some jam, too?" he asked. "Go ahead. Take as much as you want." Nick shook his head.

"What about butter?" Luka prodded. Nick shook his head again.

"Then do you want some fruit? Plain toast is a little dull, isn't it?"

Nick took a bite and chewed, no longer even bothering to respond. The toast tasted about how it looked: thoroughly burnt. Jam might have made it easier to swallow, but he would rather choke than go along with Luka's blatant attempts to curry favor.

Luka took the hint, though Nick could practically feel his scrutinizing gaze as it roved across his bare chest and shoulders. Then, as if the few feet between them was too great a distance to be sure of what he was seeing, Luka shifted his plate to the side and propped his arms atop the table so that he could lean in close. He was still clutching a blunt, jam-smeared knife in one hand. Nick kept his eyes on the knife, preferring it to Luka's face.

"You're upset about last night," Luka told him. Such potent powers of observation.

"I said I would help you. You still got hurt. Now you want nothing to do with me." Luka gave a soft sigh. "I do understand why you're angry. But sulking never helps, you know."

" _I'm not_ —" Nick bit back the rest of his retort, heat blazing across his cheeks. Luka's condescension stung, but letting himself be provoked also felt like a loss. Luka hadn't so much as flinched at his outburst, and there was no crack in his sympathetic mask.

"Nick. I truly am sorry." He said it like he meant it.

"I don't give a fuck," Nick spat, although he did, enough to wonder what the hell was really going on behind those placid blue eyes and that maddeningly steady PSY signature.

"I did the very best I could," Luka continued. "But Isidore can be stubborn. And you didn't make it easy."

"What the hell was I supposed to do?" demanded Nick.

"Obey." Luka clearly thought this should not require explanation. "Isidore asked you to do something, and you didn't do it. So of course you had to be punished." But he was not stern for long, and quickly returned to a gentle and forbearing attitude. "Still…you never should have been put in such a position. I made a promise to you that I wasn't able to keep. I'm sorry, Nick."

Nick was finding it more and more difficult to breathe. Rage and humiliation roiled within him--he wanted to scream, or better yet, to throw himself at Luka, punching and scratching even a small fraction of his suffering into that perfect face.

But there was a incessant whisper in his head. Call it logic. Survival instinct. Maybe he was just losing his mind. _He saved you in the end. Without him it would have been so much worse._

"Liar," Nick choked out. "You're such a fucking liar. You did the best you could? You weren't able to stop him? Bullshit."

"It's true!" Luka protested. "I told you, Isidore is stubborn. He gave you to me as a present, so _I_ should be the one who decides these things, but when he gets it into his head that he knows what's best, he—"

"Then why didn't you use your PSY?"

Luka went quiet. Nick wasn't sure how to interpret the look on his face. It wasn't surprise, exactly. It was the dumbfounded expression of someone faced with something entirely incomprehensible. Except usually, that sort of look only lasted an instant. Usually, lines and furrows would appear as whoever it was tried to figure out what they had just seen or heard—then came either understanding, or further puzzlement. Luka simply continued to stare at Nick, eyes wide and empty, the knife quivering slightly in his hand.

"Why didn't you use your PSY? You can stop him whenever you want." Nick didn't know if repeating it would do any good, but he had to break the silence. Luka twitched and blinked, then withdrew as far as his chair would allow. He smiled, but it was small and brittle, and his eyes above it were still somewhat bewildered.

"Nick…you do say the most ridiculous things." Luka pulled his plate back in front of him and busied himself with reapplying jam to a piece of toast already sopping with it. Nick didn't dare ask again—he'd learned from the pancake incident that signs of uncertainty from Luka meant to back off, not push harder.

Still, Nick was just as confused as Luka, to the point that he almost forgot his anger. It wasn't like it had been a genuine question. He knew perfectly well why Luka wouldn't use his PSY to help. For his all his cajoling and petting, Luka's loyalties lay firmly with Isidore, and "protecting" Nick was just part of some fucked up game.

After all, Isidore was a Void, and Luka was a monstrously powerful PSY. If Luka had even the slightest hint of a conscience, subduing Isidore would be child's play.  So why had Luka reacted like Nick was speaking gibberish?

Arguing with crazy, analyzing crazy—it was pointless, when what he should be focused on was staying as safe as he could and building his strength back up. In that vein, Nick decided he might as well reach for the jam jar. Calories were calories, after all.

Luka no longer attempted to make conversation. He demolished a stack of toast twice the height of Nick's, and once both plates were bare, he brought them to the sink and rinsed them off, humming tunelessly as he went. Once he finished, he turned over his shoulder, flashing a more genuine smile.

"Now you need to have your bath," he announced. "Are you ready?"

Nick risked another accusation of sulking by slumping low in his chair. As Luka returned, he sidled up behind Nick and placed both hands on his shoulders, in a way that might have been intended as comforting. With some effort, Nick was able to resist the urge to slap him away.

"Now, don't be like that. You know it'll feel nice to be clean," Luka murmured. "But…if you really want to, you can take it on your own."

"…What did you say?" Nick couldn't believe what he'd just heard.

"Your bath, Nick. Do you think you'll be able to handle it by yourself?" Luka looked at him with some doubt.

"I…I can manage, yeah."

"All right. Just for today, then. Make sure you do a good job." After giving him a final pat, Luka left the kitchen. Nick was briefly stupefied, but he soon found his feet and followed.

Luka waited in the hallway until Nick had entered the bathroom and closed the door. Unsurprisingly, Nick found no way to lock it from the inside, and for a while he did nothing but stand in place, focusing on Luka's PSY signature. He wouldn't put it past Luka to lurk outside and then surprise him while he was soaped up and vulnerable.

It seemed Luka had no such plans. He moved away, climbing upwards towards a second floor that Nick had still yet to see. Nick briefly considered taking the opportunity to explore the house or escape into the yard, but if he was keeping tabs on Luka, Luka was probably doing the same to him, and with far greater precision. It wasn't worth the risk.

Nick turned away from the door and then swallowed a gasp of shock, feet nearly slipping out from under him as he recoiled. There was a stranger staring at him--a sallow-faced stranger with sunken and desperate eyes. Except that was Nick's face, and those were Nick's eyes. It was his own reflection in the mirror.

Fuck, was that really what he looked like? No wonder Luka thought he was pitiful. His face had mostly been spared during Isidore's beatings, but he could still hardly recognize himself. Below it, there was a ring of ugly bruising all around his neck—he ran his fingers along it, the pain confirming that it was very real. He'd done that to himself, straining against the rope looped around his neck on the first night.

A collar. It looked like a fucking collar. Nick watched his lip wobble dangerously in the mirror, but managed to contain himself after taking a deep breath. Those bruises weren't even the worst of it, compared with the prominent hickies scattered across his shoulders and chest. There were bite marks, too, small scabs where Isidore had scraped open skin with his teeth.

Nick decided not to look at himself any longer than that. He took a piss, drank a bit more water from the tap, and briefly investigated the cabinet under the sink, where he discovered a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. Both seemed new, the toothbrush still in its plastic packaging, so Nick made use of them before finally heading to the shower in the corner.

Much as Nick appreciated being able to wash himself without an extra set of hands feeling him up, it wasn't exactly a pleasant experience. The water battered his cuts and bruises mercilessly, and he ended up twisting his body this way and that way as he tried to soap up the hard to reach areas without aggravating his sore muscles. And it was hard to judge when to stop. Nick wasn't sure if he would ever actually feel clean again, not unless he scrubbed off all his skin, but what mattered was whether Luka was satisfied. Eventually he started to grow dizzy with heat and pain, and stepped out of the shower before he risked passing out.

As he started toweling off, Nick sensed Luka on the move again, returning to the first floor hall. The timing was too perfect, proof that Luka had been keeping an extremely close watch on him. Nick's single act of rebellion was to tie the towel around his waist once he was more or less dry. Then he stepped out into the hall, preferring to meet Luka on his own terms instead of waiting to be forced out.

Sure enough, Luka was waiting for him, and his lip quirked downwards in immediate displeasure at the sight of the towel. However, he said nothing, and Nick's attention was caught by the small white box in Luka's hands. He couldn't guess what it contained, and that alone made him nervous, but he didn't have to wait long before Luka flipped open the lid.

"Now, is this so terrible?" Luka asked reproachfully. The box held a variety of white tubes and bottles, as well as a coil of gauze and a set of tiny scissors. Medical supplies—Nick breathed out a short sigh of relief, but then tensed again.

"Nice try, but I'm not going to let you drug me," he said flatly.

"Nick! This is only medicine. I would never give you anything that would do you harm." Luka sounded appalled at the very suggestion. Nick let it pass, though he suspected Luka's definition of "harm" was very different from any sane person's.

"You don't have to take any pills," Luka continued. "Isidore has locked them all up, anyway. But I thought this cream would help." He held up one of the tubes in demonstration. "And your bandages need to be changed. You've gotten them all wet." Nick hadn't given much thought to the gauze bandages still wrapped around his scraped wrists as he showered. They were definitely soaked through.

"I just don't want you to be in pain," Luka said softly. "It would be easiest if you let me use my power…but if you won't, this is all I can do for you."

Nick hesitated. He was still suspicious, but if Luka had ulterior motives, it made much more sense to let Nick suffer and leave his PSY as the only possible form of relief. Refusing for the sake of refusing also risked souring Luka's relatively lenient mood, which Nick had already tested quite a bit already.

So he stretched out his hands, waiting for Luka to hand over the goods. Luka smiled at him and did no such thing.

"No, no," he chided. "You washed up all on your own, Nick. Now I get to take care of you."

Nick's heart dropped into his stomach. He'd let his guard down. Just because he'd been allowed to take his own shower, he'd just assumed that he would be allowed to tend to his own injuries.

What the hell had he just agreed to?

"I'll do it myself." Nick took a swipe at the box, and Luka skipped back, holding it just out of his reach like they were playing keep away.

"But there are so many places you can't reach properly," he wheedled.

"Then fucking forget it," spat Nick. He abandoned his effort to grab the box, and at the same time, Luka abandoned his smile.

"I thought you had decided to cooperate, Nick," he said. "I thought you weren't going to make things difficult for me."

And there it was. Nick wavered in place for a moment, wild thoughts of escape and resistance running through his mind, each one quashed within seconds. Luka was going to get his way—the only question was whether or not he had to use his PSY. And if he did use it, their little bargain would be over in an instant. Luka would do whatever he pleased with Nick's mind and body alike.

"That's it," Luka soothed. "Just do as you're told, and you won't have to worry about anything. Let's go to your bedroom."

Nick lowered his head, grit his teeth and went.

"Lay the towel on the bed. That'll keep things nice and clean," Luka said brightly. Of course he hadn't forgotten about the fucking towel. Without allowing himself time to think, Nick jerked it from around his waist and slapped it down quite haphazardly, causing Luka to click his tongue and smooth it out.

"First thing is first." Luka patted the towel. "Sit down here. Let me see your bandages. Hold your arms out. Good. Stay very still for me." First Luka used the tiny scissors to snip away the old, sodden bandages, then reapplied the thin layer of gauze over the cuts on his wrists. However awkward Luka could be at times, his movements now were deft and assured—it was over within moments.

"Now lie down," said Luka. "On your belly."

Nick stiffened with immediately, involuntary resistance. There was no point in stopping now—he willed himself to keep going, to do it without thinking about what might come next. His body wouldn't listen, and all he could do was close his eyes, waiting for his limbs to begin moving on their own. 

An arm wrapped around his shoulder. Luka was embracing him, gently, firmly, inescapably.

"What are you so afraid of?" Luka asked. "You think I'm going to take you?" Nick had been trying desperately not to think of it. Luka hadn't raped him the past two times they'd spent the day together, and Nick had held onto a faint, stupid hope that the trend would continue.

"I'll do no such thing. Not when you're still so sore." Luka squeezed him tight. "I won't lie. The medicine will sting a little. But it's for your own good. So don't be afraid."

Nick had no reason to believe anything Luka said. But if he didn't believe it, he might go mad. So he let Luka guided him downwards with the very slightest amount of pressure between his shoulder blades, and once he was supine, his face buried in the towel, it somehow became easier to bear it all. He lay very still, taking short, shallow breaths, as Luka popped the cap off what he prayed was medicine.

A bruise on Nick's thigh was Luka's first target. The coolness of the cream registered first, and then came the promised sting—Luka ignored Nick's hiss of pain and kneaded the cream into his flesh with small circular motions. Clearly he intended to take his time.

There were perhaps a dozen small injuries scattered across Nick's legs, and Luka tended to all of them in the same manner, slowly working his way upwards. Nick soon discovered that even once Luka had moved on, a not-quite painful prickle remained in every place that he'd touched. It felt like life returning to flesh that had been totally numbed by cold.

Was this really going to help? Rather than soothing the pain, it seemed like the cream only replaced it with a different stimulus. Or was it even being caused by the cream? Luka was slowly exploring places where Nick had rarely been touched before, and never with this sort of thoroughness. The worst was when Luka prodded at the sensitive place behind his knees. Nick gave a full body jerk, burying his face in the towel to stifle his whimper. It hadn't been a whimper of pain.

Nick became entirely consumed in the moment—in enduring with a minimum of noise, in holding back the urge to squirm. Like hell he would give Luka any extra encouragement. As a result, he was unprepared as Luka moved to his buttocks, lightly cupping one with a hand still moist with cream. Nick jerked forward, though he managed to stop himself before he bashed headfirst into the metal bedframe.

"Settle down, now," Luka said, clicking his tongue.  With one hand, he spread a generous portion of cream across Nick's ass, which burned just as fiercely as it had when he was freshly struck. With the other hand, Luka stroked Nick's back, digging in with his nails just enough to leave a tingling trail. Nick shuddered and bit savagely into his lip. There could be no confusion—the petting felt good. Washing himself had been a clumsy, wincing affair, with every stray touch provoking pain. So how could Luka twist pleasure out of him so effortlessly?

Maybe Luka was using his PSY after all. Not to invade Nick's mind and alter the sensations directly (because he'd know, surely he'd know) but to measure all the subtle, unconscious responses of Nick's body, letting him ease up the pressure on painful points before it could even begin to hurt…and focus his pleasurable touches on the places most vulnerable to teasing.

Luka might know Nick's body even better than he knew it himself. And it was completely fucking unfair. Just as Luka finally abandoned his ass, Nick let out a choked noise that was half a sob as he felt an unmistakable tightness in his groin, then a new kind of tenderness as he rubbed against the towel.

"Ah," Luka said. It was only a single syllable, but it somehow left no doubt that Luka knew exactly what was happening. Nick couldn't possibly have been any more humiliated. "It's too much? You want me to stop?"

Nick managed a nod. Luka withdrew both hands, but as he did he gave a soft laugh. There was no cruelty in it, but also not a hint of remorse.

"So cute," he said. "Such a shy one, but with such an eager body. It's hard to blame Isidore for wanting to play with you."

Nick heard the tube of ointment hit the floor, and then felt the mattress sag. His alarm overcame his embarrassment and he raised his head, far too late. Luka's knees were already pressing on either side of his thighs, hemming him in. There was a solidity to Luka, despite his delicate looks, and Nick could sense that weight poised above him, ready at any time to descend and ruthlessly pin him down.

"What the hell are you doing?" Not that Nick couldn't make a guess. Maybe he was still stunned by the speed with which Luka could switch from tending him to mounting him.

"The view from here is better," was Luka's answer. "I like to look at you, Nick. I like to feel you, too." He lowered his body, though he still rested all his weight upon hands and knees, the silky fabric of his shirt brushing along Nick's spine, the wisps of his fine hair tickling Nick's shoulders. His lips pressing against the nape of Nick's neck was almost lost of the storm of sensations. But then his tongue came out, licking a warm wet stripe up to his ears, and there was no mistaking that. Nick's breath hitched in his chest.

"Shh," Luka whispered in his ear. "I won't bite you. I promise."

And yet it was clear where his lips and tongue were focused—on the raw red places Isidore had already left scattered across his shoulders. When Isidore had kissed him, it had hardly felt like kissing. It was too hard, too harsh, just another way to wound him. Luka's kisses were the opposite of that, and yet Nick didn't want to call them kisses either. It was more like a licking of wounds.

Nick buried his face in the sheets once more. He could try to buck Luka off—there was nothing stopping him. But he knew that if he struggled, or before he even began, Luka would bring every weapon in his arsenal to bear against him.

Fear and despair kept Nick bound in place just as securely as ropes or PSY ever could.

"Turn over," Luka ordered.

Nick shook his head, a tiny motion within the cradle of his arms.

"Now, Nick. That can't be comfortable." Nick felt Luka shift and sit back on his heels. Then a hand pawed insistently at Nick's stomach until he relented. His erection was free now to stand tall, and that was what it did, arcing slightly towards his belly. Nick grasped at the sheets as he fought the urge to conceal it with his hands. That would just draw more attention to it. Not that it mattered. Luka was already staring down at it with undisguised interest.

"Don't worry," he purred. "I'll take care of this, too." He ran a hand down Nick's side, angling his fingers ever so slightly towards Nick's neither region—the jolt of sensation continued onwards to the very tip of his cock, and he shuddered.

"You…you said…you wouldn't…" Nick made one final, feeble appeal.

"When?" Luka cocked his head slightly, searching his memories. "When did I ever say I wouldn't play with you?" Then he smiled. "Ah. I did promise not to take you. And I won't. Didn't you know, Nick? I don't have to be inside you for us to reach union."

"No!" Nick couldn't contain his revulsion. With union, Luka would be able not just to look at him, to feel him, to sense his surface emotions, but to know him, inside and out—Luka would know the true depths of his shame as he lay there, flushed and struggling for breath and still disgustingly hard.

" _Yes_." Luka's arm whipped toward him and Nick braced himself for a slap to the face. Instead, a hand clamped tightly over his mouth. Then Luka brought his face in close, close enough for Nick to taken in every detail. His eyes were wide and slightly glassy, there was a faint sheen of sweat on his brow, and two feverishly bright spots of color stained his pale cheeks. But when he spoke, there was only a slight trace of huskiness to betray his loss of composure. And his PSY signature remained as opaque as ever.

'I want you, Nick. I need you. No more talking."

Luka took his hand from Nick's mouth and laid it against his cheek, tenderly, almost apologetically. Even with his mouth free, Nick didn't cry out in protest, knowing that his words would be smothered before they were formed. Hot, burning tears were pooling in the corners of his eyes, and he choked back an ugly sobbing noise. Luka was slipping back down the length of Nick's body, settling himself on his knees just before Nick's crotch. Then he arched his back and leaned down to kiss Nick's belly. The very tip of Nick's cock brushed against the soft skin of Luka's throat, sending another maddening jolt through him.

Pressure was building not just in his cock, but within Nick's mind. He could feel Luka there. He wasn't doing anything, not yet, but his presence was unmistakable. He was simply waiting for the best opportunity—not, Nick was suddenly sure, because he lacked the power to force Nick into union whenever he pleased, but because he wanted as close an imitation as possible to the true union of lovers. It would be a long time yet until the perfect moment arrived. This thought wrung another sob out of Nick, and the tears began to spill freely down his cheeks.

"None of that, now," Luka said.  "You don't have any reason to cry. Don't cry." Nick's next sob carried a hysterical note to it. Luka wrapped an arm around him and propped him somewhat more upright, nuzzling at his face and then planting a kiss on his forehead. His gestures of comfort were noticeably clumsier, and when he pulled away, his own cheeks now wet with Nick's tears, he appeared entirely lost.

"Is it really so awful?" he asked softly. "Becoming one with me?" Both his hands rested on Nick's shoulders, and for a moment it seemed like Nick was the only thing holding him upright. All Nick could do was let out a pained hiccup and give Luka as much of a glare as he could muster.

Luka gave a subtle twitch. Maybe it was because he was so very close to Nick, physically and mentally, but Nick caught a definite throb in his PSY signature. It was gone in an instant, and too vague for him to read any specific emotion from it, but it was the most Nick had ever managed to sense from him.

That didn't bode well.

"…How disappointing," Luka said. Nick closed his eyes. His one consolation was that his hard-on probably wouldn't survive however Luka chose to express his _disappointment._

"You'll have to take care of it yourself, then."

For a moment Nick held himself taut and didn't breathe. After a few seconds of nothing, he processed exactly what Luka had just told him. He cracked his eyes open again, and found Luka staring at him, still flushed, still hungry-eyed, but restraining himself visibly.

"You…you want me to…?"

In reply, Luka pushed down on Nick's shoulders until he lay flat, then ran his hands down his sides until they came to rest on his hips. He dug in with both thumbs, indicating Nick's groin without ever having to go near it. Nick squirmed and let out a soft groan, instinctively spreading his legs to give himself a bit more room, and Luka took the opportunity to neatly tuck himself between them. Then he moved his hands to Nick's thighs, holding him open and exposed.

"You've done it before, I think," Luka said. "It shouldn't be so very difficult. But if you can't…I won't have any choice but to help you along."

What the hell was Luka playing at? It sounded like another barely-veiled threat, but Nick couldn't tell which option was meant as the lesser evil. His stomach churned at the thought of touching himself for Luka's sick entertainment. But how could it possibly be worse than union?

Either way, he would end up degraded. Either way, he lost again at this stupid, fucked up game.

Maybe that was the whole point.

"Nick," said Luka gently. "Either you accept the pleasure I offer, or you show me how you give pleasure to yourself. One or the other."

By taking it all into his own hands, Nick would at least know what was coming next. He wouldn't have to suffer in anticipation of Luka's touch, or what that touch might provoke from his unpredictable body. That was what decided things, in Nick's addled, desperate brain. At least this way, he could have the slightest bit of control.

His mouth had gone dry. He had to swipe his tongue around and around to gather enough moisture to spit into his palm. Then he took himself in hand, the heat and girth of his dick familiar, even if everything else was horribly wrong.

Needless to say, he _had_ done this before. Nick jerked off…about as much as any average, healthy male, he thought. It was practically reflexive. So all he had to do was stare up at the ceiling, imagine one of his favorite actresses, and go through the same motions as the last thousand times.

Unable to delay this any longer, Nick began to pump his hand awkwardly up and down his shaft. There was more friction than he was used to, and it was strange, feeling the flesh itself instead of slick lotion, but his relief was immediate—he hadn't realized just how much he'd been craving some kind of touch. His pace quickened, and he took up a regular motion, fondling the base, squeezing the shaft tight, and brushing the head in turn.

Now if only he could forget there was a man kneeling between his legs, hands still there on his thighs, gently pushing back against the slight upward jerks of Nick's hips. Ignoring Luka was a great idea in theory, and impossible in practice. It might even be imagination, but he thought he could feel Luka's hot breath against his skin, and the tickle of his hair. He _smell_ him, too, that unnatural electric burn that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

And he wouldn't shut the fuck up.

"That's it, Nick. Show me just how you like it. I want to know what you want."

Nick liked girls, for the record. At least he thought he did. After the catastrophic incident with Sarah, he'd never had another chance to put it to the test. Nick knew he could get laid if he wanted to—it would be almost too easy—but normal girls were strictly off limits. They would never come near him if they knew what he was capable of, and pretending to be harmless just so he could take them to bed was too much deceit for him to stomach.

Nick felt himself begin to drift away, desperate to think about anything other than the here and now. What he liked? What he really, truly _wanted_? How the hell was he supposed to know, when he'd never allowed himself to want anything?

There had been lapses, though, times when a mechanical jerk-off session to internet porn left him feeling more empty than sated. That was when he would fantasize about what it would be like to be with someone just like him. Another Class S (a woman, of course, because it had to be), one who could see into him just as deeply as he saw into her, and would never be afraid of him. A strong and solid presence who would hold him tightly, the warmth of her PSY enveloping him as she whispered encouragement into his ear.

"Such a good pet," Luka murmured, and Nick's shoulders and cock both twitched in automatic response. Nick furiously bit down on his lip and tightened his grip, past the point of comfort, until he was practically wrenching at his cock with every pass. It hurt, and Nick found he didn't much mind. Pain was something to think about other than Luka, and when his nails scraped against his slit, only half an accident, the sharp sting of it just added to the heat pooling within him.

Luka would never have touched him like this. With Luka, he was sure, it would have been a soft and gentle torture, slowly milking the reason out of him until he could no longer remember just why he was supposed to hate this. This way, every punishing stroke was a reminder. Let it hurt. He welcomed hurt. He might even have preferred Isidore's hands to Luka's.

Along with that thought, the next breath he took was laced with Isidore's musk—was it real, soaked into the bed or clinging to Nick's body, or just a memory? Did it matter? Fat beads of sweat rolled down his neck and shoulders, aggravating the bite marks with the sting of salt. With his free hand Nick found himself grasping at his own throat, feeling for the bruises and pressing his fingers against them. Nick gasped, the tears flowing freely again.

With one final jerk Nick came, a white-hot flash, and the elation of relief. He was free. His come spattered across his own chest, but for those few precious seconds, he didn't care. He didn't care about anything.

It would have been nice to stay that way. To slip from emptiness into dreamless sleep, and never have to remember what he'd just done.

He no longer felt Luka's hands clutching at his thighs. He wasn't sure exactly when Luka had withdrawn, but could sense him lurking at the other end of the bed. Nick closed his legs and curled into an upright fetal position—trying to hide his groin and his face alike, although it was too little, too late.

Even if Luka had forced him into it—even if union would have been a far worse violation—he'd still spread his legs and jerked himself off in front of the enemy. And why the hell had Isidore sprung into his head like that? His tears had dried up, but Nick's stomach churned with self-loathing.

Fucking disgusting. He was utterly fucking disgusting.

"Ah, Nick. What am I going to do with you?" Luka mused. His voice was gentle, but there was a troubled note to it. Maybe even Luka was appalled at just how low Nick had sunk.

"What more can you even do to me?" Nick muttered into his knees. A stupid question, and a dangerous one. He knew exactly what more Luka could do. "Aren't you happy now? Aren't you fucking satisfied?"

"How can I be?" Luka asked mildly in return, and Nick shivered with pure dread, clutching at himself even more tightly as he sensed Luka sliding closer.

"Look at me, Nick. It's all right. I'm not upset with you. You've done everything I asked. But I need you to look at me." Blind cowering wouldn't make the presence in front of him disappear. Nick reluctantly raised his head just enough to peer over his legs.

At the very least, Luka wasn't smiling. Instead, he was quite solemn. But his eyes were still too bright, too avid, and his cheeks were still faintly stained red.

"I don't want to force you," Luka said. "But this can't go on. Next time, I won't stop, no matter how much you cry. We will have union, no matter what. Do you understand?"

Nick stared at him in blank amazement, shocked not so much by what he had said, but how plainly he'd said it. It had not even been a threat—just a statement of what was to come. Luka stared back at him, unflinching.

"All you have to do is open yourself up to me a little more, Nick—then I'll do the rest. And that will be so much easier on both of us. Do you think you can manage it?"

"I can't." It was the truth. Nick could no more choose to submit to union with Luka than he could choose to thrust his hands into a flame. His mind would defend itself entirely by reflex if it had to. There was some comfort in that.

"You're not even going to try?" Luka asked. As if it were truly that simple.

"I'll die first," Nick said.

"I should hope not!" Luka must have sensed that this was no false bravado, because his brow furrowed in distress. He then grew reproachful. "That would break Isidore's heart, you know."


End file.
